


Starting Over

by aurilly



Series: Starting Over [1]
Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: M/M, New York City, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-25
Updated: 2008-03-12
Packaged: 2017-10-02 23:58:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 38,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurilly/pseuds/aurilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would have happened if Sylar had gotten "better" during his time in the Mexican facility? Angsty Mohinder/Sylar romcom in alternating first-person POVs with hyper-precise detail about life in NYC.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tea Lounge

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place in a post-season 2 AU.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sylar pays Mohinder a visit.

**Mohinder's POV**:

What a week. I had been recruited by a nefarious organization and wound up trying to save the world from a deadly virus. I had had my nose broken by a schizophrenic blonde with super-strength, met Bob's psychotic blonde daughter with electricity powers (note to self to investigate any interesting links between the blonde gene, the super-power gene, and mental instability among females), and my ego-boosting spy partnership with Bennet had officially come crashing to the ground.

It was good to be home again after that traumatizing California trip. I was looking forward to seeing Matthew and Molly and being around people who weren't dangerous, paranoid, or insane. As I dropped my bags by the table and eased my coat off, I noticed a note on the table. It was from Matthew. He had gone somewhere on a case with Nathan Petrelli and didn't know when he would be back. I smiled as I thought of Matthew. We'd only taken that next step a week before, but things were progressing nicely. He was such a wonderful person. So much more wholesome than…

My thoughts were interrupted by the doorbell. I looked through the peephole, and… speak of the devil. Literally.

I tripped, fell down, got up, and looked through the peephole again. He was still there. My mind was blank. (Matthew would have been ecstatic to hear that.) I'm not sure how much time passed while I stood paralyzed by the door.

"Mohinder?"

It had to be a ghost. Real life serial killers should exude menace, and indeed, the last time I had seen him, he was definitely in menacing psycho mode. However, this time, through the peephole, Sylar looked and sounded shy and nervous---his shoulders hunched, his head bowed, and his hands in his pockets---rather like the first time I met him. So… definitely a ghost. The only problem was that I don't believe in ghosts, which left only one alternative…

"Mohinder? Is that you in there?"

"What do you want?" I felt angry at myself for having addressed him. I shouldn't have encouraged the existence of this entire situation.

"I just want to talk."

What? I thought. I decided to ignore that, as it made no sense. Sylar never just wanted to talk. Well, except for during our road trip when he could have killed me instead of following me around. And also the time he called me, since it turned out that he really _had_ been scared of blowing up the city... Fine, maybe it was possible that he just wanted to talk, but I still found it unlikely, so I continued to argue.

"Whatever you're after, you're not coming in here," I shouted through the door.

"Honestly, I'm not after anything, but I can understand why you're nervous. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not going to hurt anyone. I promise. We can go somewhere else if you don't want to let me in. What about Tea Lounge on 7th Avenue?"

This was bizarre. A serial killer was asking me out for tea. I knew he was insane, but this was a new twist. Maybe the best idea was to do what he wanted and see what happened. Being in public was a good idea. I doubted he would kill me in front of the entire population of Park Slope mothers.

"I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but fine. You leave first. I'll watch you from the window to make sure you've left the building and then I'll see you there in five minutes. But don't pull any tricks." Spending time with Bennet had given me lessons in the order-barking department, but deep down, I asked myself who I was to be bossing around super-powered murderers. But the amazing thing is that he simply went with it.

"Ok," he said. "I'll see you there."

It actually worked. Dumbfounded, I watched him shuffle away through the peephole, but just as I turned to lean my back against the door and breathe, I heard his voice again. He was back.

"Do you want me to order anything for you before you get there? I remember last time you asked for a chai latte."

"Um, sure. That would be lovely. I can pay you back when I get there." This conversation had officially left the realm of the possible, and I found myself just going with it, too.

"Oh, don't worry about it. It's on me. Soy milk, right?"

"Yes. Soy. Thanks." I heard him walk away again and go down the stairs.

What the fuck? I had just agreed to go for tea at the hip local coffee shop with a dead serial killer who remembered my preferences. Was it a dream? Was it a trick? Was he going to kill me? At least Molly was going to be busy with afterschool activities until very late. She was safe enough, I hoped. If I didn't show up, one of her friend's mothers would take her home. This had happened earlier in the week when I was in California and Matthew was working late with Nathan.

Matthew. Thank god he was away from this nightmare. What would he do? I couldn't call him. Sylar had that poor woman's super-hearing power, and could be listening to see if I would call anyone. Should I bring the company gun? No, shooting Sylar hadn't gone very well the last time. I went to the window and saw a tall man leave the building and cross the street. My stomach did a little flip that I assume was terror. It was definitely Sylar. I put my coat back on and went outside. There was no point in trying to run away; if I didn't go, there was no telling what he would do.

And anyway, crazy as it sounds, I did kind of want a latte.

 

**Gabriel's POV**:

I sat down in an armchair in the corner, holding Mohinder's soy chai latte and my own cappuccino. I hadn't had one since the day I had spent at Mohinder's apartment months ago (although it only felt like a couple of weeks ago to me). Mohinder had let me out of the car in front of this very coffee shop to get drinks and snacks while he parked. That had been such a great day… until it all went to shit.

Anyway, I decided not to waste time ruing the past. I was here to try to make things better. Even though it wasn't quite what I had planned, this coffee shop was actually better than sitting in the apartment. At least that ceiling wouldn't be hanging over us. And coffee, not tea. A new start. A new beginning. This, this right here was normal, right? I was sitting in a nice coffee shop on a sunny day waiting to meet a friend for a catch-up session.

Except that I was now sane enough to know that the guy I was meeting was not my friend. He was a guy whose father I had murdered, and the last time we spoke in person, he gave me an unanaesthetized spinal tap and I killed an acquaintance of his (a thoroughly annoying one---I still irrationally hated stupid, pretty-boy Peter Petrelli. What was he even doing there that day? Mohinder hadn't invited him, and he just let himself in like he was used to dropping by all the time). Anyway. I had a lot of making up to do.

I shifted uncomfortably in my armchair, trying to get into a suave yet unthreatening position. I wanted to appear as normal and unscary as possible. Just as I started to worry that Mohinder had panicked and skipped town, he walked in and started nervously scanning the room. I sort of froze, not sure what to do, not sure what I had just gotten myself into. I wasn't the only one. Mohinder had that quintessential Mohinder look on his face of, "Oh my god, this is a ridiculous situation." Hee. He really did have a knack for getting himself into ridiculous situations.

He nervously smiled and said hello to the barista, who dropped the coffee she was holding. Ah, people's reactions to Mohinder's smiles. I had forgotten about that. I was surprised to see him sporting a huge bandage on his nose. He also had a black eye and looked like he hadn't slept in days. I wondered what had happened. He was wearing one of his signature shirts under a brown jacket. Basically, he looked like ass.

Oh, who am I trying to kid? Even with a broken nose and wearing stupid shirts, Mohinder still managed to make my stomach jump up and say hi to my trachea.

Finally, he noticed me in the corner, and started to give me the automatic smile that one gives to friends they've come to meet. But then I guess he remembered that we weren't actually friends and he didn't really want to see me, so he stopped. That hurt, but I knew I didn't deserve any better.

"Hey, Mohinder," I croaked as he sat down, cursing silently that I sounded so nervous. "Nice to see you again. What happened to your nose?"

Instead of responding, he took his tea, put the exact amount of money on the little coffee table between us, and glared at me with a look that screamed tell-me-why-I-shouldn't-call-the-FBI. It was obvious that he didn't want to start the conversation, but all of my prepared scenarios began with him asking me how I was still alive. Since he wasn't going to cooperate, I decided to do it myself.

"So… yeah, I'm still alive." Wow, that sounded lame.

"So it would appear." Now he was looking around the room shiftily, as if he was nervous someone he knew would walk in and see us together. I didn't see what the problem was. No one who knew I used to be a killer was likely to walk in. I decided to just keep going with my speech, despite the lack of a prompt. He was supposed to ask me _how_, dammit!

"I woke up from a coma a couple of weeks ago. I was rescued by a woman named Michelle---or maybe Candice... it was unclear---who makes illusions. She works for a secret organization that kidnapped me a few weeks before I first met you. I..." I interrupted my prepared speech because Mohinder was looking like he had seen a ghost. I mean, a ghost more ghostly than me. But at least he was making eye contact.

"Candice?! Elle's friend? You were rescued by the company! They kept you alive? _Why?_" While the sentiment that lay behind the question wasn't exactly the friendliest, and I had no idea who Elle was, at least he was responding. Finally, we were on track with one of my imagined conversations.

"They wanted to experiment on me. They tried once before, but I escaped before they could figure out how I absorbed new abilities. But the catch is that this time, it turned out that I didn't have powers anymore."

"That's impossible." Thank goodness. Mohinder was finally fulfilling his required role in the dialogue. This made it easier for me to continue.

"I know, it's really strange. No one's sure what happened, but I lost so much blood that they think I suffered some kind of brain damage to the area that controls them."

"Oh. That's plausible..." He got a far-away 'I'm thinking about science' look on his face, but quickly snapped back to attention. "So, you're telling me that you don't have any abilities anymore? No telekinesis. No super-hearing. Not your original ability."

"All gone."

"Why should I believe you?" Behind the bravado, he was interested, though. I could tell.

"What would be the point of lying about it? The other, more important thing I wanted to tell you is that I'm no longer a lunatic. The general consensus is that the insanity was linked to my acquisition of powers; apparently there's some woman they know of who also went crazy when her powers kicked in. But with all of my stolen ones, I became like ten times crazier. But now I'm just as normal as you are."

"Normal…?" Mohinder looked like he was trying to figure out what that would mean. "You're a serial killer. You'll never be normal." He was getting angry. This is what I had been afraid of, despite its inevitability.

"I know. I didn't mean to be flippant about it. I wish this came with amnesia, but I doubt I deserve that. I…I've killed a lot of people. Very gruesomely. I'm sorry. I know how dumb that sounds, but I don't know what else to say. I really _am_ sorry. I wish there was something more I could do about it. I definitely don't want to do anything like that again. I just want to start over, try to make something better of my life."

"You don't deserve to be alive, much less start over. You killed my father, manipulated me into leading you to more victims. Used me." The eyes that looked at me were full of hatred. It was clear that he was angrier about the lies than about anything else.

"I know I did. I'm sorry. But it wasn't all lies… I really was trying to be your friend… I was just crazy---"

"Why am I listening to this? Why should I believe anything you say? God, the lies you've told me before…" We were back to square one. Mohinder looked at his drink and then back up at me, flipping out. "Did you poison my tea? I can't drink this." He made a sign at the barista, who looked schmoopy and started making him another one.

This was going to be even more difficult than I had expected. I tried again.

"No, Mohinder. There's nothing in there except soy milk and tea. I'm not lying to you Mohinder. Not now." I unconsciously touched his knee while I said that, and immediately regretted it, because he tensed up and stared at my hand like it was a cockroach. I put my hand back on my lap and blushed, getting frustrated.

There was silence for a moment as he gave me a classic Mohinder bitchface. But there was something struggling underneath his expression. "So, if you were captured by the company, what are you doing here? They're not the kind of organization that would just let dangerous killers wander the country." I could tell that he hated letting his curiosity get the better of his anger.

"Well, Candice felt bad about the experiments they had run on me during my months of unconsciousness. And she found out that they were going to experiment on me more, even after I had woken up. Vivisections. I think she had some weird crush on me. She's kind of nuts. So she projected an illusion that I died of my wounds. They even buried me behind the facility. She let me run. She knew I didn't want to kill people anymore. I don't think they'll be looking for me again."

Mohinder looked at the floor again, thinking hard. The barista came over and blushingly gave him his new cup. I think something finally clicked, because Mohinder leaned forward and looked deeply into my eyes with a new expression on his face. My heart stopped.

"Are you actually telling me the truth?"

"Yes."

"Why did you come visit me? Why are we here right now?"

"I don't really know anyone anymore, and I wanted to talk to someone. And… and I wanted to apologize to you, for everything."

He kept staring at me but didn't respond. I couldn't read his expression. I had a feeling that maybe this was as far as we were going to get that day. I decided to quit while I was ahead.

I pulled a folder out of my satchel. "I stole this from the doctors before I escaped from the facility. This is my file with everything their doctors discovered about me. I can't understand a word of it, but I wanted you to have it. Maybe you'll find it useful in your research."

He snatched it from my hands, looking from me to the folder and back suspiciously but less harshly than when we had started. I could tell that he was torn between wanting to tell me off and wanting to learn about this new scientific mystery. This was the Mohinder I loved…I mean, knew… the man who was so good and moral, but whose weakness was his insatiable curiosity.

"Also, here's a letter I wrote in case I didn't get to see you and explain the whole thing. And here's my phone number and address. I've bought a new apartment. I even got a job. I don't know if it's possible, but I want to try to put it all behind me. I'm back to just being Gabriel Gray now. That was my name before… before everything started. I'd love it if you called me, although I'll understand if you don't."

I picked up my drink and left him there, staring. I started badly, but I think I finished strong, right?


	2. Tea Lounge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the boys angst and exposit._ A lot._ There's also an accidental run-in.

**Mohinder's POV**:

I sat at work, trying to concentrate on preparing a lecture for the next day, but work was the only place where I could think in privacy. My uncensored mind wandered, too giddy from the freedom to focus on any single one of the many things I couldn't think about at home. It was like this every day in my empty little office overlooking Washington Square Park.

The company had basically fallen apart soon after my trip to California. The only ones left in charge were Angela Petrelli and Bob, but Bennet had killed Bob only a few days after starting to work for him again, and Angela Petrelli, the lone remaining company founder, didn't have the means or the motivation to continue once Peter had destroyed the virus and Adam had disappeared. I was out of a job, but honestly, I was relieved that the whole thing was over.

Then the letter came from NYU, and it was like a miracle. They wanted me to fill in for someone on maternity leave, and then just stay on even when she returned in the fall. Matthew and I had no idea how I had gotten a professorship there, especially since I hadn't heard anything from them since my interview months before. I always assumed that they heard about my crazy theories and mysterious activities and threw my application in the garbage.

It all became clear on my first day. After introducing me to my new colleagues, my new boss, the eminent Dr. Shelia Rathbone-Wallace, head of the genetics department, took me into her office and told me that she had something to show me. She put my briefcase on the table and told me everything that was inside it. _Without opening it._ She cryptically told me that I should quietly research the subject we were both interested in, but give standard, run-of-the-mill biology lectures to the students. I couldn't have dreamed of a better set-up. My only worry was that something was wrong with my lectures, since I noticed that many of the students spent the hour staring at me dazedly.

Work wasn't the only thing that was new. After recovering from the confrontation that morning in the Tea Lounge and looking at all the documents Sylar---no, Gabriel---had given me, I went home and did the most logical thing possible. No, actually the most logical thing would have been to call the FBI and go into witness protection. The second most logical thing was to move, and that's what I did. I called the mother of one of Molly's friends, told her that I had come down with a horribly contagious stomach virus, and asked if it was possible for Molly to spend the next couple of nights at their house. She sounded a bit miffed but agreed. It was the work of only an afternoon of searching on Craigslist to locate a new apartment, call some movers, and arrange the whole thing. When I picked Molly up two days later, she was thrilled at our new Lower East Side address. My excuse when Matthew finally came home from his adventures in Texas was that I decided the apartment was too small for all of us. Matthew was furious that I hadn't consulted him, but I think---or hoped---at least part of him was impressed. He always told me that I wasn't spontaneous enough.

The part that wasn't logical was the fact that I didn't say a word to anyone about Sylar being back. That I hadn't called the FBI. That I hadn't done anything to stop him, to apprehend him, to avenge everyone he had hurt.

This is what most of my swirling thoughts were about.

I believed him. At least, I think I did. I didn't want to, but I did. Or did I not actually believe and just want to? But why would I want to? It didn't make any sense. It all gave me a headache.

He had given me a genuine Company medical record. I was sure of that. I even recognized the handwriting of one of the doctors. He really was telling the truth. It took me awhile to process all the implications of this information. That the Company was corrupt enough to resuscitate a serial killer. That down the road it might be possible to cure people of dangerous abilities. That Sylar was alive. That he didn't have powers. That he wasn't crazy any more. That, in fact, other than Bennet (who didn't count because he still hated me), Sylar was now the only non-superpowered person in my acquaintance. Ironic.

What did it all mean?

I felt a lot of undue pressure. He had put me in the position of being his judge and executioner. All I had to do was either call the authorities, or call one of any number of super-powered people I knew, and they would finish him off. I could even go to the address he gave me and do it myself. But as I sat there that morning, drinking both of my chai lattes, I knew that I wouldn't.

First off, I convinced myself that trying to deal with him in the court system would be laughable. I tried to imagine the witness stand---a jury listening to him talk about using telekinesis to cut people's heads open. It was ludicrous. And as for vigilante justice… Honestly, I was tired of the violence, tired of all the guns. My experience with Bennet had left me never wanting to be involved in that kind of situation again. Sylar had killed my father, yes. But I had killed Claire's. In a court of law, Sylar could now plea temporary insanity, and if it had been a case unconnected to my life, I would have accepted a not-guilty verdict. To make an exception because it was my father would be hypocritical, right? I certainly didn't have that excuse with Claire's father. I fought with myself on this issue. I knew rationally that I shouldn't compare my actions to his, but I couldn't help myself.

There was a time when I had been out for revenge. I didn't feel that anymore. Too many things had happened. Meeting Molly, watching the exploding Petrellis, getting to know Matthew, working with the company, dealing with Niki and the virus, the whole debacle with Bennet. My own personal vendetta with Sylar somehow didn't seem to matter as much. More so, I had gone four months thinking it was over; the prospect of mustering up that level of hatred again, especially given the circumstances of his reappearance, was more than I wanted to deal with. I was exhausted.

Actually, at this point, what hurt more than a dream-image of Sylar's hands killing my father was the memory of standing over Dale's debrained body while my "friend" "Zane Taylor" stood before me as if he wasn't responsible.

The thoughts that scared me the most were the ones I hardly dared to let myself think. The ones stirred up by his letter. I kept it in my locked desk drawer along with the medical records; it wasn't the sort of thing I could leave around the flat. The company folder had scientifically convinced me of his mental stability and loss of powers. The letter was more personal. It covered all of the ground that we had discussed in person, but it also explained why he was bothering to look me up in the first place. The fact that he would have slipped it under the door in my absence made it clear that he hadn't been stalking me; otherwise, he would have known I no longer lived alone. That was a fact I reminded myself of whenever I second-guessed my decision to let him be.

_The best time I've had in years, possibly ever, were those three days. I know you probably think it was all a trick, a lie, if you think about it at all. But for me it was real, despite the fake name and the murder and everything else. Whenever I was with you it was real. I felt calm, almost sane, almost as good as I feel now... not that I feel all that great. I wasn't sitting there plotting in the car. I know you won't believe me, seeing as I still snuck out to kill someone and then pretended again, but it's true._

I tried thinking of reasons why he would so desperately want to convince me of this. He had said something similar to my face, that he had been trying to be friends but the insanity got in the way. Was that even possible?

_I'm sorry about your father. Sorry is such an inadequate word, but it's all I can think of. I'm sorry about everyone, but I'm sorriest about that. Of all the murders I wish I could undo, that one's the first. Of all the reasons why I know that we most likely can't be friends again, I know that's probably the biggest and the most impossible to move beyond._

I put the letter away for the tenth time. Rereading it wasn't helping. The only way to get clarity would be to call the number he gave me and talk to him, but I wasn't going to do that. I wasn't going to turn him in, and I wasn't going to have him killed, but I _definitely_ wasn't going to call him. Sometimes I wondered what I would say if I did. Strangely enough, that thought was the only thing that ever silenced the almost schizophrenic cabal of voices and questions in my head, because I had no idea.

Keeping all of these thoughts secret outside the office took a strong effort. I started thinking in Tamil, explaining to Matthew a few days later that Tamil was the language I associated with being back in university mode. It was the first lie I had ever told him, and I hated it. Damn Sylar for making me lie. Conveniently, Matthew was too preoccupied with other things to realize that I had started thinking in Tamil _before_ I got the university job. Convenient, yet frustrating, as he was somewhat distant these days. However, I couldn't be completely sure if he was actually being distant, or if I was actually the one at fault and simply projecting. We hadn't gone on a date. We hadn't had a chat about what was going on between us. We hadn't really done_ anything_ about our fledgling relationship. Part of me felt disappointed and insecure about it; part of me was also relieved that we weren't spending much time alone together, because I lived in deadly fear that he might read my mind and hear…

"Who is Gabriel?" he called out absent-mindedly one evening while watching television. I was in the kitchen chopping vegetables for dinner and almost cut my finger off in surprise. Thankfully, it seemed that my thoughts were not specific enough for him to realize what was going on.

"Someone at work. Why do you ask?" I replied casually. More lies.

"Because your head has been buzzing with worry about this guy for days. It's really distracting. You need to stop letting him stress you out. Hey, you know, now that he's better and all cleaned up, Nathan is lobbying to take back his congressional seat. He asked if we would help him in his re-campaign."

I murmured assent, for once relieved that his dealings with the Petrelli's were so all-consuming. He had been spending a lot of time with them recently, and they were all he ever wanted to talk about. Again, I didn't know if I was projecting hysteria about having an undead acquaintance of my own and was just jealous because I couldn't talk about it, or if he actually was over-involved with Nathan and the magically reappearing Peter.

I didn't know anything anymore. So I just kept cutting the vegetables.

 

**Gabriel's POV**:

On Sunday I went for a walk in Central Park. It was one of those randomly really nice March days. My dad used to take me bird-watching there sometimes on Saturday mornings, and the place always made me feel happy and safe. I went up to 72nd Street to where people sail the model boats and look at the hawk that lives on top of that building on Fifth Avenue. It was lonely, but one of the great things about New York City is that you can at least be lonely surrounded by a lot of people.

The walk was to celebrate the completion of my first week of work. By far the hardest thing about returning to New York was figuring out what to do with myself. I still knew how to work with watches, but with my original ability gone, my particular skill with the more complicated problems had gone as well. I knew I needed a job, and I couldn't face working all alone anymore, so I did the unimaginable. I got a desk job. If the me of six months ago could see me now… I saw an ad for an assistant buyer in the men's accessories department of Bergdorf's, and they were thrilled to find someone who knew watches inside and out. I was sort of embarrassed to be working even close to fashion, but it was a pretty good gig for someone who hadn't worked in ten months. My story was that I had been on a "road trip" for six months and then "in the hospital" for four after getting stabbed through the chest by "a mugger".

The people seemed nice, but I wasn't great at making friends. I got a lot of pity, but didn't have much to say. I hadn't had a real conversation with anyone in almost a year, except for Mohinder, Mohinder's dad, and Candice. I was still working on my social skills, such as they had ever been. All my life, I've had trouble connecting with people. The few friends I'd had from school wouldn't remember me, and I'm not sure what we would have talked about anyway. The only person with whom I had ever felt a real bond was Mohinder, and even better, he knew the whole me, the things about myself that I couldn't talk about to anyone else ever. But obviously, that was a lost cause.

Also, I was also exhausted. Having a stint as a serial killer isn't something you just get over like a cold. I hadn't slept well since my recovery. Basically, I hadn't slept at all. All night, every night, I dreamed about blood, bodies, and brains. Blood on my hands and on my face. Bodies impaled with household objects while people screamed. Brains… ugh. Brains are truly disgusting. Squishy and smelly and _wet_. How could I ever have handled them regularly? No ability was worth that. Especially stupid ones like metal-melting. I mean, really.

I tried to downplay it around Mohinder for the sake of getting the conversation going (not that it had worked very well), but escaping my past actually wasn't that easy. If I could have thought of a way to make up for everything, I would have jumped at the opportunity. I just didn't know how. Everyone I knew was dead, so there wasn't much use in apologizing. I couldn't turn myself in, because who would believe me? My only choice was to put it behind me and move on, trying to be the best person I could be.

I lived in deadly fear that the remorse and lack of sleep would push me back into insanity. Knowing that the empty apartment I had moved into was bought with money from the sale of the apartment that had been left to me in my mother's will---the mother I had killed---was just the tip of the iceberg. So, I tried my best to think of the past year of my life as little and as dispassionately as possible. I also tried to spend as little time alone in my apartment as possible, which is why I was taking a walk in the park.

While I was still trying not to think about brains, my heart stopped. It was his multi-colored scarf of fug that first caught my eye. Mohinder was standing maybe 100 feet away from me. What was he doing here, other than dressing badly? (Working at Bergdorf's was already making me quite the critic.) He was buying a pretzel, which didn't make any sense, because I knew how much he hated bland American snack food. Then he looked down at the little girl standing next to him. He was buying the pretzel for her! My head spun. Mohinder with little girls? The hell? The little girl beamed at him and hugged his waist. Mohinder gave her one of his heartbreaking smiles as he took her non-pretzel hand and walked towards the fountain.

I just stood there and gaped. I recognized her. She was the daughter of a family I killed (I hated that I was capable of even _thinking_ such a sentence). She got away, twice, before I could ascertain if she had a power, too. What was she doing with Mohinder? Of all the little girls he could be in the park with, why did it have to be one of my victims? No wonder he hated me and didn't want me in his apartment. No wonder he hadn't called. In addition to all the other reasons, of course. I had a feeling I should get away, but I couldn't stop staring.

I think Mohinder must have sensed my staring, because he suddenly looked in my direction. His eyes bulged out of his head. He hurriedly turned the little girl in another direction to point something out to her---the hawk, I think. Meanwhile, behind his back, he was gesturing at me to disappear. I felt a pang of self-loathing all over again. Mohinder shooing me away like a flea-ridden cat was almost worse than Mohinder pointing a gun at my head or Mohinder asking if I had poisoned his tea. I pulled my scarf up over my face, pulled my hat down and turned to take a path away from them.

I happened to look back. I saw Mohinder and the little girl joined by a large man who also looked vaguely familiar. He was that cop I shot…does it count as "shooting" if it's with bullets already in the air? I had a vague memory of Mohinder kneeling over his wounds just before that blonde starting swinging a parking meter at me. This same cop had also been there that day at the FBI with the little girl. So maybe he had taken her in, and he and Mohinder had made friends after the Kirby Plaza incident, and Mohinder babysat sometimes? That could work. But then cop guy said something and smiled at Mohinder and I watched Mohinder get a validated beam on his face and burst into one of his infectious full-body laughs.

Mohinder was in love. Or at least in serious like.

My heart broke as the cop put his arm around both Mohinder and the little girl. It was hard to tell which one she was fonder of.

Oh my god. Mohinder and this guy weren't just friends. The two of them and the little girl were the archetypal Park Slope aggressively modern family unit! A trans-national, interracial gay couple with mismatched professions and a potentially super-powered adopted daughter. It doesn't get more progressive than that.

Even though I tried to repress it, every so often ideas of things I would have done back when I was a crazy fuck pop into my head. I got one of those flashes as I shuffled out of the park towards the 6 train, too depressed to continue enjoying my walk. A few months ago, I would have caused the Alice in Wonderland statues to fall down and crush that cop, thinking it would bring me closer to Mohinder.

I kicked a fallen tree branch. Sometimes sanity sucks.


	3. From Oompah to Batali

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mohinder pays Sylar a visit.

**Mohinder's POV**:

Two evenings after the episode in the park, Molly was having a sleepover, and Matthew was over at Peter's apartment, so I had the evening to myself. I left my office and walked straight east for what felt like an eon to 8th Street between Avenues C and D. Once I found the building, I dialed the number I had saved in my phone under the name Taylor.

I hadn't slept since the day in the park. I couldn't hide from his existence anymore. I had to confront him before the worries took over my life. I had to find out what that sighting meant---if it was a simple coincidence, or if he was up to something.

"Mohinder?" Sylar's voice sounded disbelieving.

I got right to the point. "Where are you?"

"I'm at home. Why?"

"Press the buzzer."

The front door unlocked and I let myself into the converted brownstone. It was in need of a renovation, but I could tell that with a bit of sprucing up it had the potential to be a nice building. I started up the stairs, looking out for his apartment number. When I reached the fifth floor, I saw him waiting on the landing, hair endearingly disheveled, and wearing a wide-eyed expression that didn't match his black tank top and business slacks. He looked like he had just come home from work. Wearing those clothes, standing in just his socks, he looked so pleasant and welcoming…

"Mohinder!" he whispered joyously. Then the shocked grin turned into a worried expression. "Why did you call only when you were right outside? Is everything alright?"

"No, everything's fine. I did it just in case…"

"In case what?" he asked, still confused. I immediately felt guilty for harboring suspicions.

"Oh, I don't even know anymore. No reason."

A shadow of comprehension passed over his face. In case he would have tried to plan something nefarious if given more of a warning. Old habits die hard, but it was becoming clear that mine died harder than his, oddly enough.

"So, can I come in?" I asked, trying to change the subject. I smiled to offset how rude I was being.

"Yes! Of course," he said, and moved out of the doorway. "I apologize for the state of the place. You're my first visitor ever. If I had known you were coming, I would have…" He stopped to scratch his head and think. "Well, I don't really know what I would have done, but something. Here, let me take your coat," he said. I took it off and handed it to him. As he moved to hang it on a rack with some of his own garments, I noticed something familiar.

"Isn't that _my_ brown corduroy jacket?" I asked.

Even in the poorly-lit foyer, I could see him redden. "Yeah, um, I, kind of stole it that day after you left. I… I don't remember why now. Sorry. You should take it back if you want, of course." He looked painfully embarrassed.

"Don't worry about it. It was always too big on me anyway. I'm sure it looks much better on you."

"Thanks." He smiled sheepishly. For a moment that went on just a bit too long, we stood staring at one another.

This whole scenario was possibly the most awkward thing that had ever happened in my entire life. I could tell he was thinking the same thing, too.

He suddenly snapped out of his reverie and motioned me into the living room. "Here, you should sit. I don't know how much time you have, but would you like anything to drink? A snack? I have some orange juice. And cookies?" He motioned me towards a comfortable-looking easy chair.

"That sounds nice, thanks," I said absently as I sat down. He disappeared into the small adjacent kitchen.

"So, what's going on?" I heard him ask; but he continued babbling shyly before I had a chance to answer. "You have no idea how glad I am that you came, Mohinder."

I was looking around, so I didn't answer him right away. It was a very sparsely furnished apartment, and spotlessly clean and neat, but it still felt rather homey. I was so wrapped up in my observations that I actually forgot to say anything at all until he came back out of the kitchen a few moments later with two glasses of juice and an unopened bag of gourmet oatmeal raisin cookies. He looked slightly sad, and I realized that it seemed like I was utterly ignoring what he had just said.

"Sorry, I got lost in thought," I mumbled as he sat down in another armchair and opened the cookies. "It's nice to see you, too," I added unconvincingly.

Was I glad to see him? I hadn't really thought about it before; I had been too frantic about the episode in the park. But now that I was sitting here, I had the earth-shattering realization that it was nice to see him. Even despite today's palpable awkwardness, we had been friends once, in a strange way. Immediate, like-at-first-sight friends. And if everything he had said and written was true (which I knew deep down, it was), there wasn't really a reason for us not to get along like we once had.

"I'm guessing you're here to talk about Sunday, right? You're wondering what I was doing there, if I've been stalking you, and what I plan to do now that I've seen your, um, friends."

Despite my inner musings, I think my rudeness so far had made an effect on him, because he was visibly bristling and trying to pre-empt an expected verbal attack. He was perfectly justified, as I hadn't been particularly friendly thus far.

"Well, you don't have to worry," he continued quickly. "I haven't been following you, and I don't intend to start. It was just a coincidence. I was taking a walk, just like you guys. You can forget the whole thing ever happened." Something seemed to snap in him. "God, don't you get it Mohinder? What else do I need to do to make you understand? I'm harmless. And even if I weren't, _I still wouldn't hurt you!_" He looked so tired and defeated, as if that speech had taken what little strength he had in him. All of a sudden, it struck me how tired and thin he looked. His face was hollow and he looked pale, as if he wasn't at all well.

"I know," I said softly. I even took a cookie and leaned back in my chair to show him that I felt comfortable with him.

"You do?" He gaped in understandable surprise at both the action and the words.

"Yes. But I'm here because we still need to discuss it. I'm assuming you recognized them." He nodded. "I'm sure you understand how disastrous it would be for you if they found out that you're alive and in the city, and for me if anyone found out that you and I are…" I wasn't sure how to finish that sentence. "No one knows that I knew you in the past, so I'm not sure how I could possibly explain to anyone why I haven't done anything since learning about your return."

He looked terribly uncomfortable, as though it was the first time he realized the ramifications of seeking my friendship, and the ramifications of being back in New York. I suddenly felt terrible for him. He was obviously very alone in the world, and was pinning a lot of hope on the connection we had formed on our road trip. I made sure my tone was as kind as possible before continuing.

"I don't want you to worry. This doesn't mean I'm never going to talk to you again. I just need you to understand that I don't live alone, that I'm still surrounded by a lot of the same people from a few months ago, and that you need to be a lot more careful. If you can run into me, you could run into anybody."

He looked startled. "What are you, a mind-reader? Because you basically just addressed everything I was thinking."

I snorted. "A mind-reader? Hardly."

I think he saw me about to get lost in thought again, because he shifted gears and started asking me what I had been doing recently. It was so strange to remember that he really didn't know anything about the last four months--- it was also incredibly refreshing. I told him about the company, about immortal Adam, about the virus. He didn't even know what happened with Peter that night, so I had to go even further back. He looked vaguely irritated when I spoke about Peter, which tugged a few strings of nervousness in me again. After that I tried to tell the story with as little about special abilities as possible. I pointedly didn't talk about Molly and Matthew, their abilities, or the living situation; I just didn't feel ready to discuss it with him, and he seemed to understand, because he didn't press me. I also didn't talk about what happened with Bennet, but that was more because I didn't want to think about it.

He asked all the right questions, made sarcastic comments at all the right moments, was obviously engaged. It was nice. I didn't have many friends in New York---only Matthew, really, and I had been avoiding him recently for a lot of reasons. It was like being back in the car with 'Zane' months ago, except even better, because the moments of anxiety I had felt due to the madness I now knew he was repressing no longer occurred. After awhile, we got away from news, and started talking more generally, about his youth in the city, about my world tour. We even went online to look at my pictures from Egypt.

Time flew by. We somehow got into one-up-manship contest of bizarre New York subway stories. He pulled into the lead with one about watching an intoxicated young woman approach a young man and tell him that she couldn't get off the train without telling him how much he resembled Bertie Wooster, a fictional character from books about the 1930s. And how the young man actually seemed interested rather than apprehensive. Not only was it a good story, but it led us to discover our mutual love for PG Wodehouse (Sylar told me that once he heard the girl say it, he realized that the man actually did look like his mental image of the character). My best contribution had been a story about a young man inexplicably carrying a pineapple and wearing nothing but flip flops and barely-there leather hotpants (in November) who asked me if I 'wanted to get weird.'

"What does that even mean?" Sylar asked, while doubling over laughing at my confused expression.

"I was hoping you could tell me," I deadpanned. I was delighted. People almost never laugh at my stories or find me funny.

My stomach growled loudly, bringing us back to reality. Even though it was the first week after daylight saving time, it was already dark. We looked up at his beautiful mantel clock and saw that it was almost nine.

"Look at the time! I can't believe we haven't eaten dinner. Do you like German food? The greatest restaurant in the entire city is just a block away." He looked so contented---and thankfully less pale---that I felt bad for ruining everything.

"No, it's getting late. I should probably go," I said, realizing as the words came out of my mouth that I, too, was disappointed. This was by far the best evening I had had in a long time. I got up and headed to the foyer to put my coat on.

"This was really fun, Mohinder. Maybe we can go to Zum Schneider another day? I'm not exaggerating about how good it is."

I thought for a moment. "I don't know. It's very complicated. I doubt I can come back here, to this neighborhood... she could look for me, and I don't know how many lies I can get away with." I realized I was talking out loud about things that I was still keeping secret from him, and he looked bewildered. I coughed and tried to think clearly. "I don't know what your work schedule is like, but we might be able to meet around my office sometimes. Call the genetics department instead of my cell phone. I am expected to be there, and no one can sneak up on us unawares. How does that sound?"

"Sure, whatever works for you." He clearly had no idea what I was talking about. I caught myself hoping that he didn't feel snubbed.

I started to feel irrationally like a cheating husband, so I tried to put a professional spin on the whole situation to justify it to myself. "Actually, maybe we could kill two birds with one stone. I do need a lab rat, and you're a most interesting case. I'll understand if you don't want to, though."

He put his hand on my shoulder. Unlike in the Tea Lounge, this time when he touched me, I didn't flinch.

"I think it's a great idea. I'll talk to you soon."

We had another too-long moment of staring before I made my way downstairs. For some reason, I was unable to stop smiling.

 

**Gabriel's POV**:

I obsessed every day for an entire week before calling Mohinder. I didn't want to seem pathetically overeager by calling too soon, but I also really wanted to see him again. For the first time since my recovery, I actually slept for more than a couple of hours that night after he left. And during the hours when I tossed and turned, I was replaying his laugh and the things he had said, instead of gruesome murder scenes. Granted, the respite lasted only for one night, but that was still a huge deal.

I even perked up at work a bit. Emboldened by my first great evening in basically forever, I hesitantly started actually talking with my coworkers. Ever since my original ability kicked in and I started isolating myself more and more in the watch shop and then became a shadowy criminal, I had forgotten that people are generally nice. Once I started smiling a bit more, some of them even started including me in their lunch plans from time to time. They were genuinely looking out for the new guy.

Anyway, I finally worked up the nerve to call Mohinder. It would have been less stressful to email, but I had a feeling that whatever cryptic thing he was afraid of probably meant that it wasn't a good idea to have digital records of our interaction. I didn't know what was going on with him, but I wished it wasn't. He seemed stressed out and terrified about it.

"Hey, Mohinder. It's me, Gabriel." It felt strange introducing myself to him like that. Although I had seen him twice, I hadn't actually launched into it that way yet.

"Good to hear from you! I was starting to worry." Worry? I shouldn't have obsessed for so long.

"I was thinking about what you said about meeting up at your office sometime and maybe doing some tests or just hanging out. I don't know when is good for you, but I'm free pretty much whenever."

We arranged to meet in the lobby of the biology building the next day at 5pm. Mohinder was waiting for me, looking slightly nervous, but he still smiled when I came through the revolving door. He rubbed my shoulder to say hello (guh) and took me through a backdoor. As we walked down the almost intimidatingly bright and modern hallway to his lab, I looked slyly at him. As usual, I had no idea what he was wearing: ill-fitting slacks of an indeterminate color and a new yet typically hideous striped shirt. Did he really think this was appropriate for professors? _Oh my god, what is my job doing to me?_ I thought. But I still decided to taunt him, for old times' sake.

"I think after this we need to get you to my office, Mohinder. There's a mid-season sale going on, and I have a 60% employee discount on top of that."

"That's nice of you, but I don't need any new clothes."

"You think you don't, but trust me, you do," I snarked.

"Well, maybe if people didn't keep stealing my clothes, I wouldn't need new ones."

"Touché, Suresh," I replied. We grinned.

"Sylar---" he started.

"Mohinder, call me Gabriel."

"Sorry, I mean to, but sometimes I forget. You come loaded with a lot of names, do you know that?" He smirked. It was the first time he had made a joke about my impersonation of Zane. It was actually the first time he had brought it up at all, although I knew that period was the only possible reason he was bothering to spend time with me.

We reached his office, obviously not quite moved into, but already cluttered. He suddenly became nervously professional.

"So, if you don't mind, I'd love to run a few tests today. I have your MRI from months ago, but I just wanted to see if there's been any change in the past few months. It'll be fascinating if I can find out exactly which synapses were affected and locate exactly where abilities are controlled in the brain. This is such an interesting case. And then maybe take a bit of your blood to work on later. I want to see if there have been any changes in your DNA. I still have the results from the last time, so I can…" He stopped himself, obviously remembering the circumstances under which he had gotten the sample.

"Sounds great," I continued for him. I winked to put him at ease. It was good to be reminded that I wasn't the only one once capable of sadism.

It's kind of hard to hold a conversation while going from piece of equipment to piece of equipment. I was happy to be around him, but this wasn't turning out to be much fun. Mohinder was very focused and kept trying to explain what he was doing, but even if I had been able to fully concentrate, I'm not sure I would have gotten it. I couldn't tell if Mohinder was feeling weird or if this was just him in work mode. I needed to say something not science-related, and for some reason the question I desperately wanted to ask, yet knew I shouldn't, came out before I could stop myself.

"Feel free to tell me to mind my own business, but… what's the deal with you and the cop and the little girl?" That didn't come out as suavely as I wanted.

He looked conflicted for a minute, as if he was trying to figure out exactly how much he wanted to tell me.

"I met Molly the day you called me. She was sick with the virus, and I cured her. I don't know why, but I just knew I had to take care of her. She had fallen into… bad hands after… well, you know." There was a hardness in his voice. I looked at the floor, wanting to vomit. It was Molly's mother who haunted my nightmares more than any other victim.

"And the cop?" This was the part I was most intrigued and nervous about, so I tried to ease into it. "I'm glad he recovered so well. He seems good as new."

"Yes, he is. Matthew---that's his name---also saved her weeks before I met her. I think you probably remember that, too…" It took him a second to get back into it. "He, too, felt a need to take care of her, and she couldn't decide which one of us she wanted to live with, so we somehow ended up taking care of her together."

"You looked like more than just roommates to me," I blurted out.

"Yeah, I… It's complicated. Or maybe it isn't even. I don't know." He pretended to focus on the computer screen.

"Look, you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

"No, I'm being frank. I honestly don't know."

"Ok. No problem. I just asked because when we went out West, you talked about girls. Like Eden, and your old fiancée. So I assumed… Which is why I didn't… so I was surprised…" I was just sputtering at this point and figured it would be best to shut the hell up.

"Yeah, me, too actually…" He laughed, and something passed over his face as he looked at me. He stiffened, but didn't actually seem upset. "Ok, now I'm going to tell you to mind your own business," he said mock-scoldingly.

"Fair enough." I still had no idea what was going on, but I wasn't sure I wanted to hear much more, anyway, so I changed the subject. "So, do you have time for dinner tonight, or is this just a quickie?" As soon as it came out of my mouth, I realized how the question might be interpreted. I immediately blushed, which only made it worse. Mohinder looked quizzical, but didn't otherwise react. Maybe he didn't get it.

"Today is Matthew's day to pick Molly up from school, so I don't need to rush home. If we stay in the building, I can just say I was working late. Let's order in." He had a weird location hang-up that I couldn't for the life of me understand.

We decided to be extravagant and order from Otto---or rather, he did, since I had never heard of the place. While we waited for the delivery guy to come, Mohinder pottered about cleaning up the lab, in adorable, uber-scientist mode.

"I can't tell you how much I appreciate you doing this for me. I know getting poked and prodded isn't much fun , but I think the ramifications of this research could be enormous, a whole new step on the research my father…" He stopped suddenly. In a split second, his whole mood changed, as if something had finally snapped after weeks of pressure. He sank into a chair, putting his head in his hands. I deciphered some of his mumbling. "Oh god, what am I doing?"

I had never seen him look this lost and defeated. I hated knowing it was all my fault. He was obviously freaking out about what it meant to be friendly with me, the man who killed his father, among others. I knelt in front of him and tried rubbing his knee, but he jerked it away.

"Mohinder. Mohinder, I'm so sorry." He looked and sounded so broken. I wished there was something I could do to fix it.

"You never told me what happened between you. You never told me why. Was there even a why?" He was whispering through his fingers, dry heaving sobs.

I knew I had to answer him, but it wasn't something I was prepared to do. I thought for a moment, hoping what I was about to say would be vaguely coherent. "He rejected me. For not being special enough. And… and I wanted to prove to him, to somebody, that I was. He was the first person who had ever sought me out for any reason. I actually… killed the first person so that I could prove to your dad that I was special. I needed a flashier power. And then for a little while it was good, but then he turned on me again, rightfully so, of course. I overheard him plotting with Bennet to turn me in to the company. So I… I killed him, more out of frustration than anything else. It isn't much of a reason, I know, but looking back now, I don't really think my reasons for anything were very good. None of the logic that seemed clear at the time makes sense any longer." I had never actually spoken to anyone about my murders before, and I struggled not to fall apart along with Mohinder. He listened to my explanation, but was still quietly hysterical. I got the feeling that this was about more than just his father.

"I don't know if I would prefer a much better reason, because then that would mean an increase in the total amount of wrongness. Sometimes I'm afraid that I'll turn into him, replicate his mistakes."

"Don't be ridiculous. You're self-aware enough to know if you start becoming someone you don't want to be. From the first time I met you, I knew you were someone I wanted to be like. I mean, you're actually nice to me, a freaking serial killer. I can't imagine a single other person who met me during that time who wouldn't just gun me down in the street like a dog. But you… you're forgiving. You can see past the surface. You're a truly good person. You'll always do the right thing."

"I don't know how good I am anymore. It isn't just you, isn't just this. I did some things while you were gone… horrible things. I thought for the right reasons, but now I'm not completely sure that I was in the right after all. I'm not sure who I am anymore."

"Don't worry. I believe in you, for what it's worth." I didn't know what else to say. I couldn't stand seeing him like this, Mohinder, the strongest man I had ever met.

He suddenly pulled himself together and took a deep breath. "Thank you. I'm… I'm sorry for making a scene."

I knew the only way to end this was to tease him a bit, and yet be firm. "Don't get all weird and British on me, Mohinder. Feel free to make all the scenes you want."

He forced a smile, but continued to be weird and British and changed the subject to the weather. Thankfully the food arrived a few minutes later. It took a little while to get back into our groove, but by the time we finished eating, I could tell that things were going to be okay. All in all, it didn't end up being the most enjoyable evening in history, but as I walked home, I realized it was necessary. We had worked through some issues. Sure, that meant we hadn't been as carefree and joyous as when he came to my apartment, but somehow it felt more real. Sort of like how a first kiss is spectacularly exciting, and the second is less explosive, yet more meaningful, because it paves the way for the third, fourth, fifth, and infinity...

Although, I definitely shouldn't have been making kissing analogies when thinking about Mohinder. It wasn't healthy.


	4. Party Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the boys deal with other aspects of their lives (shocking, I know).

**Gabriel's POV**:

"I'm in way over my head. I don't know how I got this job. I can't do this."

"Look, Gabe. These sales and marketing people are going to kiss your ass so hard it'll leave a hickey. They need you to love them and their stuff. All you have to do is listen and smile. There's absolutely nothing to stress about. You have all the power in this situation."

My first product launch was that evening and I was having a (non-homicidal) breakdown. Part of the job was to go to these swanky events and become familiar with the new collections. This one was for Gucci, and it was going to be held at some cutting-edge art gallery. I had never been to a cocktail party before, and was terrified of making some sort of gaffe. I had a budding friendship with one of the assistant buyers in women's shoes, and she was giving me a pep talk. Allison was a savvy sophisticate who was amazing at her job without being snotty like some of the other people in the office.

"I don't know," I whined.

"Would you feel better if I tagged along?"

"Allison, would you? I'd be so grateful. Is that allowed?"

"Haven't you been listening to me? You can do whatever you damn well please. You could bring a crack whore and they'd still gush. Anyway, the women's event is next week and they'll be ecstatic to get an early shot at me. I'll come show you the ropes. Plus, you know, I never turn down free champagne."

"There's going to be champagne?" I squeaked. I had never actually had champagne before. This was becoming more terrifyingly extravagant by the minute.

Allison got a wicked gleam in her eyes. "Man, oh man, we are going to get you drunk tonight."

 

**Mohinder's POV**:

"Hurry up, Mohinder. We're already late."

The babysitter had just arrived. I hoped this new one would be better than the last, easily distracted one.

"Goodnight darling," I said as I bent down to hug Molly goodbye.

"I wish you didn't have to go," she said.

"Me, too," I whispered.

"I heard that," Matthew interrupted. "Let's go. Night, Mols!"

As soon as we were outside the building, he erupted.

"You totally backed out on your promise to help out with Nathan's recampaign. The least you can do is pretend to be excited about going to this party."

"I didn't back out. I made fliers, I left messages, I proofread dispatches. I did whatever Nathan asked me to do, whenever I could spare a moment."

"Which wasn't often. The virus is gone, Mohinder. I don't see why you've been working so late some nights these past couple of weeks. Everything you did to help, you did by yourself, without meeting with them. And yeah, fine, you were alright with Nathan---you at least called him and stuff--- but Peter's convinced you hate him. What's your problem? Why have you been avoiding him?"

The truth is, I was terrified of seeing Peter. I had become extremely adept at remaining master of my own mind around Matthew, but I didn't know how I would fare around Peter, another telepath. And who knows? Maybe he was better at reading body language than Matthew was. Maybe he had encountered someone with a babel fish-like ability to translate languages. Anything was possible.

"I haven't been avoiding him. I've just been busy. Adam's virus may be gone, but there's still a lot of work to be done, to perhaps create inhibitors, to manufacture other cures to the natural strain of virus. What I don't understand is why you care so much. It sounds like you and Peter barely bother to say anything out loud anymore, and I don't fit into the cop and district attorney Law &amp; Order role play you have with Nathan."

"Well, you _could_ be the doctor. There's always a forensic specialist." I glared daggers at him. "Ok, ok, sorry about that. What were you saying? What's the problem?"

"I just don't understand your seeming desperation to become part of their psychodrama."

"What are you talking about? What psychodrama?"

I scoffed. "Where should I begin? Even _without_ their abilities, you've got the heart attack/suicide/possibly murdered father, the company-founding mother, the alcoholism, the explosions, Nathan's miraculously healed and now estranged wife, Peter's string of dead girlfriends, the inappropriate touching…"

"They're Italian!"

"Oh, please. I understand that you got to know Nathan better during the Adam crisis, but I don't understand why it morphed into this ongoing infatuation with them and a need to involve me, too."

"Did it ever occur to you that just maybe I wanted to help you reach out to some great people? You're so shut off. And maybe you've noticed that I've backed off about it in the past couple of weeks. I gave up. You've retreated further and further away into your own head, or your lab, or wherever the hell you've been since I went to Texas."

"Oh, so now it's _my_ fault you're pathetically preoccupied with them?"

He looked exasperated. "Is this about… whatever with us? I didn't think we needed to talk about that."

"That's exactly your problem, Matthew. You're so used to reading minds and being around another telepath that you've forgotten that speech is sometimes necessary."

"Look, I'm sorry if you're hurt. I just thought what happened was pretty clear."

"Well, obviously it _wasn't_. You can't start something with someone you live with and then just ease out of it as if it never happened without explaining why." I was releasing weeks of pent-up frustration.

He took a deep breath. "I just wasn't that into it, ok? I was hurt after Janice left. I was sick. I was lonely. You were there. You were nice---nicer to me than anyone had been in a long time. You were ridiculously attractive. You were something completely new, as different from Janice as humanly possible. The anti-Janice, as it were. You seemed equally lonely, and I felt like maybe by making you feel better, I could feel more worthwhile. And maybe I romanticized the whole living situation a little bit, too."

"I see." He was being so logical and honest, but I still had a lump in my throat. No one likes being rejected.

"But those are the all wrong reasons. I mean, I still want to be friends, and I still love our little set-up, but at the end of the day I'm just really not into you like that. It didn't feel right. It was just too new."

"It was pretty new for me, too," I mumbled. It was true. I knew it wasn't right, too, but I had kept romanticizing.

"Was it?" He seemed surprised. "I thought… I mean, I once accidentally caught some vague thoughts in your head… Whatever. Anyway, I also got the feeling that maybe you were in it for similarly wrong reasons, like I was filling in for someone, I don't know who. And when you started pulling away like you did, I realized how ridiculous the whole thing was, and that maybe neither of us was that into it. And then Peter and Nathan came along and we clicked while you retreated. You have no idea what a relief it is to have friends who understand my job and have my ability."

I was struck dumb. He was right. All this time I had been blaming him and feeling rejected, but actually, it was at least equally my fault. I had been jittery and distracted ever since Sylar came back, which was _exactly_ the period he was talking about.

He continued. "I figured you felt the same way. I guess not. You're right. You're not a mind-reader. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Matthew, it's fine. You're absolutely right, actually. It wasn't a very good idea for either of us. I think because it took so long for us to admit it, I was still… I don't even know what. I don't think I was actually hurt. I think I just needed to talk it through."

"But you're also right about me being distant. I shouldn't have shut you out like that. I have a lot on my mind that I didn't think I could tell you." He looked at his feet, and his voice cracked a little. "I have a crush on Heidi."

I was shocked. "Nathan's wife?"

"Yeah. Please don't tell anyone, Mohinder. It's driving me crazy. You've never met her, have you? She's just, like… perfect. They're not really speaking much right now, and he sometimes asks me to act kind of as an intermediary between them, so I've gotten to know her. She's so great with those two boys, and she's so strong and beautiful. I'm sure she would just laugh if she ever found out, but I'm totally smitten. I know they're getting a divorce, but she's still _married!_ I feel so guilty. And it hurts, because I really want to be a good friend to Nathan, and I don't want to stop hanging out with Peter, but I'm so _petrified_ that he'll hear a stray thought about it."

Goodness. I felt so selfish. I'd been so wrapped up in my own worries for the past few weeks that I hadn't even noticed that Matthew was going through his own secret trauma. A scarily similar one, at that.

"That's just terrible, Matthew. I'm sure even if Peter did hear something, he wouldn't judge you. And who knows? Maybe Nathan wouldn't care."

"I don't know." He suddenly pulled himself together just as we entered the subway. "You know what, Mohinder? I'm glad we had this chat. I really missed being able to talk to you."

"Me, too." I was relieved things were finally going to be alright again between us, except for the fact that I still couldn't talk to him about my issues.

 

**Gabriel's POV**:

We got out of the taxi on 10th and West 25th in front of PaceWildenstein. A terrifyingly perky blonde greeted us inside.

"Welcome! What's your name?" (Gah.)

"Gabriel Gray." She beamed even more brightly when she found the pre-printed name tag with my position and company on it.

"It's the greatest pleasure to have you here, Mr. Gray. I hope you enjoy the presentation. If you have questions about anything at all, please don't hesitate to ask. And your friend?"

"I'm Allison Sutton, one of Gabriel's colleagues. I just came along to compare the developments in this season's men's and women's lines. Hope it's alright." The woman turned the wattage up even higher. She looked at us as if we were the celestial pair.

"Allison Sutton, Bergdorf's women's shoes buyer? Of course it's alright! I'm delighted you're so interested in Gucci this season. We don't have a nametag for you, but let me make one right away."

We made our way into the main gallery. In addition to a bar, there were different stations set up in the various rooms with watches, bags, shoes, and other men's accessories. A mix of very fashionable people and corporate types was milling about, drinking wine and eating hors d'oeuvres. Allison headed straight to the bar and ordered two glasses of champagne. She had us clink glasses.

"To your first cocktail party. See, it isn't so bad, is it?"

"I don't know yet, but so far, it's like you said. That lady was oozing all over us."

"That's only the beginning. Come on, let's make the rounds while we're still sober." We stopped at all the display tables and each time were greeted by perfectly put-together young women with the same perky intensity as the first. The only way I could handle it was to focus on my job and take copious notes, but after awhile I started to get used to it. Sometimes the models, the investors, and the society ladies would approach us. When they saw our nametags, they would gush. The amount of attention we were receiving was incredible. I hadn't felt this important and special since…

For so long, it was all that consumed me---the desire to be "special." But did I ever understand what it meant? For awhile I'd had a lot of power, yes. More power than anyone else on the planet, except for Petrelli (grr), but what was the _point?_ I never used it to gain any practical kind of influence. What's the point of being the (second) most powerful man alive if no one can ever know, if you wander around alone, sleeping in stolen cars? For the first time in my life, I, regular old Gabriel Gray, was being treated like a king by influential and powerful people---power of a completely different type, but still power. And I had power over _them_. It was a small thing, and only a specific type of situation, but it was still pretty amazing. Maybe if I had ever known what normal acceptance, approval, and power felt like, I wouldn't have…

"Gabriel? Are you ok?" I hadn't even noticed that Allison was back at my side after talking to an acquaintance of hers from Vogue. I nodded, absently. "Looks like you need another drink," she said.

 

**Mohinder's POV**:

As we walked in, Matthew said, "Just make nice, ok?"

He still had the wrong impression. "I actually do like these people, you know."

The last time I was inside this house, it was to drop off a cold body. Now it was filled with expensively-dressed warm ones. When Nathan noticed us standing awkwardly in the vestibule, he excused himself from the two women he was talking to and hastened to greet us.

He first looked at Matthew. "I'm glad you finally dragged the professor out of his hole." Then he turned to me with a genuine smile, not the politician one. "Long time no see, doc."

"Hi Nathan," I said. "Congratulations. You really deserve the seat. I think you'll make a real difference." He shook my hand warmly.

"That means a lot. All your work helped make it happen, so thanks. You look great. Much better than the last time we met." We hadn't seen each other since the day Niki broke my nose. "Peter's been looking forward to seeing you again. Let's go find him."

We spotted Peter in the less-crowded library. It took all of my inner strength to suppress my terror, not only because of the fear of having my mind read, but also because I honestly didn't know what to say to him. I had seen him a number of times, but we'd only ever really spoken twice, and neither time had been what Matthew would call a 'smash hit'. And the other times, I was sitting silently and helplessly by while he died or exploded. All the same, his face lit up when he saw us.

"Mohinder!" He grasped me in a full-body hug. "I'm so glad you came."

I suddenly felt guilty for avoiding him. He really was as nice as Matthew had been raving.

"I haven't seen you since the last two times you died," I whispered jokingly.

He laughed. "Yeah, you do have a knack for being around at bad times. I'd better be careful tonight. Good thing our old buddy Sylar's no longer around, heh?" He slapped me on the back and grinned.

I felt the urge to vomit. Peter looked at me with concern mingled with curiosity.

"Sorry. Maybe I shouldn't joke about it. He beat you up pretty badly that day he broke into your house." That's what everyone had assumed, and I hadn't corrected them.

I valiantly controlled my thoughts. "No, it's fine. It's just strange to think about that period of time." He was still staring at me, though.

Nathan came to my rescue. "Come now, let's not dwell on all that. Tonight's for celebrating. Celebrating _me_. There are some people I want you to meet, Mohinder, but first we need to get you two a drink. I'll mix you something special myself." Nathan rubbed his hands together and looked at me wickedly. He threw an arm around my shoulders as he led me to the bar. "I've always wanted to see what you're like drunk, did you know that?"

 

**Gabriel's POV**:

"You know what? This is kind of fun, after all."  
I had taken all the notes I needed to make. Now we were standing in a corner by some truly hideous collages, hopelessly intoxicated.

"It would be way more fun if they had a different exhibition going on. I fucking hate Rauschenberg. This shit is offending my sensibilities." Allison had been an art history major at Yale, and got very riled up about these things. She shuddered so dramatically that she knocked the glass out of my hand. She looked from the spilled liquid to me and back. "What was that?"

_Shit shit shit_, I thought. "Um… What was what?"

"You made this motion like you thought you could stop it by looking at it. What do you think you are? A Jedi?"

"Maybe." _Fuck. Pull yourself together._

"You're a weird guy, Gabriel." She went off to get me a new drink and came back. "If only today wasn't a Wednesday, we could go clubbing after this."

"Why?" I didn't see what clubbing had to do with anything.

"Because this is where the clubs are, silly. Way West Chelsea consists of only two things: art galleries and night clubs. Where have you been living all your life? In a hole?" She paused. "Actually, don't answer that."

I thanked my stars that it was Wednesday. This work event was enough stress for one day. "I doubt we're dressed for it anyway."

"Sure we are. Slutting it up is so passé, at least in the places I would take you. I'm wearing a cute dress, and you look seriously hot today." The great thing about Allison is that despite her flirtatious personality, she had a boyfriend she was crazy about, so I never had to stress. She was just a very exuberant and friendly person.

All the same, I spat out my drink. She laughed and squeezed my hand.

"You're so cute, Gabriel. I mean, anyone would think you'd never been paid a compliment before. But you're this super sweet, really good-looking guy. You must get _loads_ of girls coming on to you all the time." I think she misinterpreted my shell-shocked expression, because she tried a different tactic. "Uh, sorry. Loads of guys?" When my expression didn't change at all, she shrugged her shoulders. "Or whatever."

"Not really," I mumbled.

"Not really of which?" I think this is something she had been wondering for some time.

"Either."

"Oh. Well, it's definitely not because of your looks."

"Which leaves only my personality, right? Thanks."

"No, I didn't mean it like that. You're just painfully shy. It was like pulling teeth for weeks to get you to come out of your shell. And even now, you're still mostly in it."

"Yeah, I just wasn't well for a really long time. It's hard recovering from that, you know?"

"Oh, poor baby. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pick on you." She gave me a quick hug.

"It's alright."

I felt guilty because the lies I came up with to explain the unnatural parts of my life always ended up making people pity me. The thing is that those kinds of stories were always the most logical and easiest to believe. When I started becoming friendly with Allison and one or two other people at work, it became clear to them that I had some social issues, and that despite growing up in the city, I didn't have any friends. I needed some kind of explanation for that, so I told everyone that I had suffered a clinical depression (and maybe something a little worse), for the four years since my ability manifested, and had succeeded in driving everyone away, but that I was finally on some really good meds.

Luckily, that explanation also covered my lack of sexual experience, as sometimes people just lose interest in that sort of thing---which actually ended up being true. I had made out with a few guys and girls in college, but nothing much ever came of it. I never really cared enough to pursue anyone. I had only had one crush in years.

"It's not alright. We need to find you someone, Gabe. You're too great to be alone. How long has it been?"

I looked into my drink. "Forever. Literally."

As comprehension dawned, Allison's mouth formed a silent, shocked, "oh."

She became briskly faux-businesslike. "Okay. I'm going to make this my project. 'Project Get Gabriel a girl… or a boy… or whatever.' Are there any prospects? Anyone at work? In your building? Or do I need to start from scratch?" As my head filled with a very specific image, I found I couldn't look her in the eyes. She gaped. "There totally _is_ someone! Details, please."

I hesitated. This hadn't really come up yet. The paranoia I lived with everyday told me to shut up, but I desperately needed to talk about Mohinder to someone. Our phone calls during work and the three more evenings we'd spent shooting the shit in his office were great, but the secrecy that surrounded the whole thing sometimes made me wonder if I was going crazy again, if I was just imagining it. I was sick of not being able to talk about anything that mattered to me to anyone. At least I could sometimes talk about the past with Mohinder, but I wanted someone with whom I could talk _about Mohinder_. He said Bennet was the only person who knew my real name---Bennet, who was god knows where, not thinking about me, and most likely never going to meet Allison.

I decided to risk it, most likely because I was drunk.

"It's someone I met during my roadtrip."

"Good-looking?"

"So gorgeous, you almost have to look away."

She furrowed her brow. "Well, that might be part of your problem. Anyway, continue."

I took some time to figure out exactly how to word this for as much truth and as little detail as possible. "We met kind of randomly, and it was like love at first sight, you know? He had a project to do out west, and I somehow convinced him to let me tag along, even though he didn't know me. We spent three days together driving and hanging out, and it was great. We really clicked… it was like we had always been friends."

"You got in a car with a stranger? Some New Yorker _you_ are. Did anything happen?"

"Well, it was confusing, because I was secretly mooning over him, and sometimes he'd touch me unnecessarily, and other times I felt like he was looking at me out of the corner of his eye, and he was always telling me how glad he was to have met me, and how great it was that the trip didn't feel weird. So in some ways it seemed like maybe... But he kept talking about his ex-girlfriends, so then I thought no. He just didn't say anything that made it seem like he'd go for me, even though his body language seemed like maybe he would. Then one day I kind of just went for it. I kissed him. And it was confusing, because he seemed really shocked, and yet sort of into it, and yet made it clear that he didn't want me to do it again."

"Ok, so maybe he was just a little bit hesitant at first, but I'm failing to see a problem here, Gabe."

"Well, I've told you how messed up I was. The thing is, I've done some seriously fucked up shit. Stuff even before I met him that coincidentally ended up wrecking everything when he found out. And even after I met him, I continued doing things that when he found out made him hate me. He retaliated kind of sadistically and quite rightly rejected me one day when I wanted to stop. I capped it off by, um, taking it all out on his friends in some pretty bad ways just before my attack."

"How bad?"

"Like, end of the world bad."

Another reason I liked her is that she never pressed me about things I didn't want to talk about. She looked at me with newfound wonder. "Man, still waters… And now?"

"Everyone thought I'd thankfully dropped off the face of the planet, but I looked him up when I got better to apologize. I've somehow managed to make him understand that I hate having done those things. We're sort of friends again, but it's weird. I can only hang out with him in his office every so often, and no one's allowed to know I'm back or that we're in touch."

"Because all the friends you hurt wouldn't understand?"

"Yeah. And because they'd justifiably beat me to a pulp. Or worse. And also because he's now living with two of them---he and this guy have adopted a little girl."

Her jaw dropped. "A _guy?_ Argh!"

"Exactly."

"Oh my god, what a story. No one would ever guess you have so much drama, Gabriel. I love it! I need to digest this and come up with a plan. Hope is never lost! The things I could tell you about me and my boyfriend, but it worked out in the end. This guy likes you. He's got to. When are you seeing him again?"

"I don't know. He's at some political party right now." I paused. "Allison, could you please not mention this to anyone? You're the only person I've told about it, and as you can probably imagine..." But I knew she wouldn't.

"You know you can trust me. One last question, and I'll leave you alone. What's mystery man's name?"

"Mohinder."

"Oooh! Sexy Indian. Even better." She winked at me. I rolled my eyes.

I felt like a huge weight had been lifted off my chest. "Thanks for listening, Allison. That really helped."

"Anytime, Gabe. I worry about you sometimes. You need to loosen up more. Come on, let's get out of here."

 

**Mohinder's POV**:

Three vodka tonics later, and I was feeling great. Nathan's friends were all so interesting and well-read. I got the feeling he was trying to set me up, but had no idea where my tastes ran, so he was shopping me around to all different types of people. After the first drink hit me, I decided it would be fun to see who he would introduce me to next. I gave him ambiguously positive feedback on everyone, just to watch his confusion grow.

Towards the end of the evening, Peter, whom I was still avoiding, cornered me.

"Hey, are you alright? You looked really upset about something for awhile."

"I'm fine." I needed to change the subject. "So what is the world's most powerful man doing these days?"

"That's something I need to figure out. For awhile I buried myself in Nathan's recampaign work so I wouldn't have to deal with that question. But now… I just don't know." He looked depressed. Actually, he had looked depressed all evening. "Mohinder, I know what it's like to be let down by someone you… really liked, really thought you had something with, thought you shared a unique situation with. To realize that what you thought was going on was actually not the case at all. So if you ever want to talk, just call."

 

What was he talking about? Matthew? Or…? And who let him down? I had no idea, but since he looked like he was on the verge of tears, I made comforting noises and patted him on the knee.

"There, there." Something occurred to me. "There's a lot of secret heartache going on at this party."

"Tell me about it. Look over there. _Hopeless._" Peter pointed his head at Matthew, who was using the banister to support himself while talking to Heidi, the love-light shining in his eyes.

"You _know_?"

"Come on, Mohinder. He's hardly the most subtle guy on the planet. I mean…" He tilted his head forward and slightly crossed his eyes in an exact replica of Matthew's 'I'm reading your mind' face. I laughed so hard that I started choking. Thank goodness; Peter was smiling again. "Don't tell him I told you. I don't think he wants me to know."

The irony. "It's our secret. Um, if you think you'll be ok, I should probably go save lover boy from himself and start heading out. It's getting really late. It was nice seeing you again, Peter." He grasped my hand warmly.

"You, too, Mohinder. Don't be a stranger."


	5. Business Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sylar has it bad for Mohinder (yeah, like we didn't already know that)

**Gabriel's POV**:

I put the phone back on the receiver and stared straight ahead without actually seeing anything.

It was two days after the Gucci party. Mohinder had just called to tell me that Molly's school would be out the following week for spring break and that Matt was taking her to Florida the next morning to meet his parents. Mohinder would be home, alone (my emphasis, not his) for---I counted it out on my fingers---eight whole days. Best of all, he said we could hang out a lot, and in places other than his office. It was too much to hope that we would see each other every day, but still, a week had never before seemed so deliciously long. We made a plan to meet up the next afternoon.

Allison had called in 'sick', but I knew she was actually playing hooky, and off to a wedding in St. Lucia. Great. Just when her little project actually needed a boost. Just when I needed some advice on what the hell Mohinder and I should do together, the one person I could ask was probably spilling daiquiris on her bridesmaid dress.

I spent so much time alone that I didn't know what people did or where they went on the weekend. All I ever did was walk around by myself. I had no idea what Mohinder liked, or what he would expect.

I stressed all evening, all the next morning, and was still stressing when I reached the second floor of Crate &amp; Barrel at Broadway and Houston late the next afternoon. Mohinder was already lounging comfortably in one of the sample living room sets. He was reading _The Economist_, and looking for all the world like a model hired by the store to complement the cream-colored Potomac line. He was so engrossed that he didn't notice I was there until I sat down next to him and said, "Boo." He jumped a mile. I guess it came out a little creepier than I realized.

"You _cannot do_ that!" he yelled, and then looked embarrassed for being loud. Once he calmed down, he said, "This is a very strange place to meet someone."

"It's warm, has comfy chairs in case someone's late, and is the best bet for a public bathroom in this neighborhood."

He shrugged in admittance that my points were all good ones. "You're a strange one, Gabriel Gray, but I suppose no one knows that better than me." Mohinder put the magazine down and looked at me expectedly, his dark eyes shining with anticipation. "So what should we do today? To be honest, I went from spending time in my apartment with a woman who turned out to be a spy, to being basically married with a kid. So, I don't really know how to be 'young and fun' on a Saturday in New York City. This is all very exciting for me."

He was so fucking adorable, it hurt. _Married with kid, pinned him to ceiling, married with kid, pinned him to ceiling_, I chanted in my head, trying to ignore the fact that we were on a loveseat and he was beautiful. I remembered when we had sat this close for three days in that little car. It was all I could do then not to reach out and yoink those curls. I was still struggling to suppress that urge.

"How about Tribeca? A friend of mine always raves about this place called The Brandy Library. Apparently, there's a long wall with lots of different kinds of scotch and stuff, and there's one of those English library stairs that slides along the wall. On Saturday afternoons they have free scotch tastings. Then it's only a short walk from there to this French restaurant called Le Cercle Rouge." I held my breath waiting for his response.

"Perfect! Let's go!" Mohinder beamed. Whew. Thank god for Allison and her overly detailed descriptions of evenings out.

The Brandy Library was intimidating and expensive, but Mohinder was thrilled with it. He was always so disarmingly down-to-earth that I often forgot that he came from a very wealthy background back in India. Watching him feel so at home there helped to put me at ease, too. The place had a somewhat stuffy British atmosphere, which I think he always secretly longed for in New York. By the time we left a couple of hours later, I was buzzed from all the free scotch, but not Mohinder, who seemed to take the whole tasting thing very seriously, as if he was in some vineyard in Provence.

I really felt like we were on a date during dinner, and I think our waiter did, too. This French restaurant was all dark woods and silly accents. Mohinder was telling me really funny stories about his semester abroad in Paris during his years at Cambridge. At one point, his hand suddenly went to his pocket. "Excuse me, Gabriel. This is probably Molly. I know it's rude, but I should take this." He got out the phone and started talking softly, but not so softly that I couldn't hear. "Hello, darling. How are you? Did you arrive safely? … That's good. … Yes, exactly. Right as usual. … No I don't think you've ever been to this neighborhood before. … I'm out to dinner with a couple of people from work. … No, not having too much fun not to miss you. … Do Matthew's parents love you already? I'm sure they do. … Lasagna? Yes, I know how much you like that. Don't let her feed you too much ice cream. … That's wonderful. Tell him I say hi, too. … Yes, I'll talk to you two tomorrow or the day after. Goodnight, dear. … Love you, too."

He got off the phone with the goofiest grin I'd ever seen on him. I would never have imagined that Mohinder could look in any way goofy, but these people brought it out in him. At that moment, I remembered for the millionth time how hopeless my infatuation was.

"You really love them, don't you? Your little family."

Mohinder gushed. "Molly is wonderful. I know it sounds so cliché, but having a child---even only for a few months---really changes you. I can't imagine what my life would be like if I hadn't met her."

"I guess you have me to thank for that, huh?" I wanted the floor to swallow me up.

Mohinder became serious, but not upset. "Yes, I've thought about that before. Strange, how life works, isn't it?"

"What about, um, Matt?" I was trying to change the subject, but the anger and jealously that came out from saying the guy's name just made it worse, I think.

"He's fantastic, as well." Mohinder was looking at me funny. I guess he heard it, too. What a disaster.

"How come you didn't talk to him? I mean, I thought you two were going out and everything." _Mind your own damn business, Gray_, I thought.

Mohinder poked nervously at his food. "No. We're still good friends and happy living together, but the dating aspect fell apart."

"Oh." I couldn't say I was sorry, because I wasn't. My elation was tempered only by the knowledge that this most likely wouldn't change anything in my favor.

He looked off into the distance and laughed. "It's so decidedly and amicably over that I'm actually trying to hatch a plan to get the woman he's besotted with to notice him. The only reason we thought there could be anything between us was because I was lonely and he was in a rough place after his divorce. It was a mistake."

"I can see that happening. You're good-looking enough to confuse anyone." I shouldn't have said that. Mohinder blushed.

"So how do you feel about ordering dessert?" he asked. (Ouch.)

We topped off our relatively extravagant evening with a nightcap at the bar at Nobu. When we left, I knew that we had finally reached that awkward point in the evening where either we would decide to hang out again the next day, or we wouldn't. I had been bracing myself for it for hours, but Mohinder surprised me by not even seeming to have questioned it.

"This was just perfect, Gabriel. For tomorrow, I was thinking we could go to a place near my apartment called Freeman's. It's on Rivington Street. I've never had Sunday brunch before, and it's gotten some good reviews." He was really getting into this whole 'typical weekend in New York' idea, but something was wrong.

"Rivington? How can that be near your apartment? You live in Brooklyn."

"Oh, I moved. I guess I forgot to tell you." He squirmed, obviously kicking himself for letting that slip. I hated these moments when it was clear that despite all the progress we'd made, we still had some serious trust issues. I couldn't be angry with him for keeping things from me. I probably would, too, no matter how convinced I was that the former psychopath who twice threatened my child had recovered. I pretended not to notice anything was wrong.

"Sure. Brunch would be good. Let's meet there at eleven." I left him at the subway entrance and took the long way home, feeling really happy. Mohinder and I made a great Saturday evening pair.

The next day was overcast and uninspiring. When I got to Freeman's, Mohinder was already at the bar, having a bellini and reading _The New Yorker_. Was he ever anything other than ten minutes early?

"Hi, Gabriel. You should get one of these. It's delicious!" He looked mightily pleased with himself. The hipster bartender shot me a dirty look. I guess he was irritated that I interrupted his opportunity to hit on Mohinder, who was, of course, completely oblivious.

"You're one of _those_ people, aren't you?" I asked as we sat down at a table. I hadn't taunted Mohinder all weekend.

"One of which people?" He could tell it was coming. This was our little routine.

"Those people who only read _The New Yorker_ and _The Economist_, and think they have it all covered. Snobs."

Mohinder pretended to be offended. "The quality of the writing is exceptional, I'll have you know. I also read a number of academic and medical journals."

I shook my head. "You remind me of my grandmother sometimes, do you know that?"

Brunch wasn't particularly good. The company was great, but the eggs were strange. We were still hungry after we left, so we got crêpes from the cart on Prince Street. Mohinder had never been to the Metropolitan Museum, and had been intrigued the day before when I told him how I like to take long walks and watch the neighborhoods change, so we ended up walking all the way to 82nd Street. It was the best hour and a half walk I'd had yet.

The museum was packed. I guess no one else knew what to do on a dreary Sunday afternoon, either. Neither of us knew much about art, so we wandered around for over an hour, reading the signs, bullshitting some 'insightful' comments, and pretending to care about the Dutch masters. We finally found some peace and quiet in the Asian wing. Mohinder was ecstatic to find the Indian section and started explaining everything to me in great detail. I noticed that he made very funny gestures when he went into professor mode. Watching him made me too light-headed to concentrate, and I felt a pang of pity for his poor, probably love-sick students.

When we got through India, we stopped to rest our legs in the indoor Japanese rock garden, which we had all to ourselves. Mohinder tucked himself up into a ball on the bench.

"Do you ever miss having abilities?" I wasn't sure where that came from, but it was an interesting question, one which I usually tried not to think about.

"I'd be lying if I said no. Objectively speaking, it was pretty amazing, but I would never like to go back to the life I was leading before, and it's hard for me to separate the two in my mind. It's too bad the abilities came with the crazy---or vice versa?---but then again, I suppose I wouldn't have had all those extra interesting ones if I hadn't been crazy enough to kill for them. I just wish I had thought to do something useful with them when I had them. Now, I just kick myself for not having tried out for pro golf when I had telekinesis. Tiger Woods would have been toast, and I would be rich."

Mohinder laughed. "Do you know, that's the first idea for a practical application of an ability that I have heard proposed? I've only encountered one other person who seems to have found a way to harness their ability into something productive that enhances their normal life."

"Who is that?"

"A telepath I met."

I became giddy. "Do you know that's the one ability I would want now?"

"Really?" Mohinder suddenly looked very uncomfortable with the turn in the conversation. I didn't know why. We were speaking hypothetically, weren't we?

"Yeah, it would be great to get inside people's heads and hear what they're thinking about you, thinking about each other. I'm sure that could be really useful, too. It's a great way to get stock tips, for one. Just hang around all the bankers and listen in. Although, if telepathy is as painfully noisy as the super-hearing was at first, it might not be worth it."

"It starts out like that, but one can learn to control it, just as you did with the hearing." He looked even more uncomfortable. Stupid me for not only bringing up something that made him nervous, but for bringing up the one time I actually made him look at a body. I tried to change the subject.

"Is there one you would want?"

Mohinder thought for second. "To be honest, I've never really envied all of you. I'm quite happy being… unevolved, but if I had to pick one, I think I'd actually choose your original ability. With that, maybe I would have figured out a cure for Niki in time to save her, or made an inhibitor that would have stopped Peter from gaining that radioactive power. And maybe on the side, I could figure out how to jerry-rig my dvd player to play international discs. Intuitive aptitude seems much more useful than invisibility or any of the other ones I've seen."

_Clearly._ The one ability I always underestimated except for how it could get me cooler ones was the one Mohinder would have been able to put to much better use. Here was a guy who would never have any abilities, but who would have used any of them so much better than most of the idiots out there, myself included.

"I wish I had you around ages ago to give me ideas like that. Maybe…" It hurt too much to imagine all the possibilities and alternate realities.

Mohinder was thinking along the same lines. "I've often thought it was cruel fate that it was my father who found you instead of me. Maybe things would have been a lot different."

"Yeah."

The sad silence was broken only by the tinkling of the water flowing through the rocks. We got up a few minutes later, and perked up when we stumbled across the Ancient Roman wing. I have a thing for antiquity and was proud to be able to explain something new to Mohinder as he had explained the Indian stuff to me.

It was raining torrentially when we left the museum. Neither of us had an umbrella, so we hopped into a waiting taxi.

"Where to?" the driver asked. Mohinder and I looked at one another. We hadn't thought that far ahead.

I knew he had that mysterious location hang-up, but I went out on a limb anyway. "Do you want to come over? I bought some movies the other day. We can order in and watch one. It isn't very exciting, but---"

"8th Street between C and D, please," Mohinder interrupted to tell the driver. He turned back to me and smiled. "That's a brilliant idea. It's only five thirty. We can eat and watch and I can still get home at a reasonably early hour. Why don't we order something from now? How about that German place near your house that you wanted to go to the first time?"

I couldn't believe he remembered. I called Zum Schneider and put in an order for the camembert, the bratwurst platter, and a jaeger schnitzel (yum).

"Why do you like German food so much?" he asked.

"I don't know. I just really like sausage." Oh Christ. I had gotten so accustomed to Mohinder not getting things that I had stopped bothering to self-edit. He looked out the window to hide his embarrassment.

Mohinder's plan was a good one. The food was ready by the time the taxi got through the traffic and back to my neighborhood. We ran like crazy people from 7th and C to my apartment. Even in just a block and a half, we got drenched. By the time we got into my apartment, his hair was hanging limply around his face and my jeans were soaked through. While I changed into pajama pants, Mohinder divvied up the take-out. We wolfed it down; I was hungrier than I had realized, and I think he was, too.

After dinner and a lengthy decision process, we decided to watch _3:10 to Yuma_. I'd heard it was good, but didn't know what it was about. Mohinder was cutely eager about seeing his first Western. I uncorked some wine and plopped down on one end of the couch, expecting him to sit beside me. I was hurt when he sprawled out on the rug instead.

"Do I smell or something?" I probably shouldn't have asked that. It sounded too needy.

He turned to look at me and very seriously replied, "Not at all. I genuinely prefer to lie on a carpet when I watch television. Also, we walked a lot today, so this feels really good." He turned back around.

I was too tired for the stress associated with not believing him, so I took his words at face value. Also, it wasn't a total loss; this meant I could stare as much as I pleased without him noticing. I put my feet up and stretched out on the couch as the credits started to roll, feeling pretty happy with my lot. I resigned myself to the fact that Mohinder would never be interested in me the way I desperately wished he would. After all I'd done, I was lucky the guy was _speaking_ to me, much less lounging comfortably on my floor in his bizarre argyle business socks. Yep, this was as good as it got.

 

**Mohinder's POV**:

The next thing I knew, I was awake. I opened my eyes and looked groggily up from my spot on the floor. Gabriel was still lying on the couch, saying something. I was about to make a snide remark (I'm not very pleasant upon just waking up) about the inefficacy of talking to people while they're asleep, when I realized what was going on.

He was pale, sweating, and twitching with increasing violence. His face was contorted into a mask of pure terror.

"No, stop, please, _please!_ I don't want to," he murmured fitfully, tears coming out of his eyes to mix with the drool and perspiration on his face.

I crawled over to the couch, and realized that he looked only slightly worse than he sometimes looked during the day. I now remembered all the times I had noticed in passing how thin and pale he was, how the huge bags under his eyes made him look hollowed out, how he was so run down that he picked up every cold that came his way. _This_ was the reason why. I felt so stupid and self-absorbed for not putting the pieces together: the fleeting looks of desperate panic whenever we parted ways late in the evening, how groggy he sounded if I ever happened to call him early in the morning, the copious amounts of coffee he consumed.

"Gabriel, Gabriel," I whispered, kneeling over him and stroking his face the way I used to do with Molly. The touch must have registered in his dream as something else, because he grabbed my arm with strength I had forgotten he possessed and shoved me away from him, screaming, "No!"

The sound of me crashing into the coffee-table caused him to jump out of his sleep. He started looking frantically around him like a cornered animal. It took him a moment to comprehend where he was and that he wasn't alone.

"Mohinder? Why are you lying like that? Oh… did I…? My god, I'm so sorry." He stumbled off the couch and practically climbed on top of me in his haste to set me in a comfortable sitting position. He started babbling as he collapsed next to me on the floor, both of our backs against the couch. "What time is it? Oh crikey, it's 1am. I can't believe we both conked out like that. You should have left hours ago. Are you ok? Are you going to get in trouble or…"

"I don't know. I don't think so. It's probably too late to matter now." I would think of a story later if Molly and Matt asked me where I had been. I was less concerned about that than I was about getting to the bottom of what was going on right now. "Gabriel, does this happen often?"

He looked away. "I'm sorry you had to see that. Don't worry about it."

I put my hand on his chin and gently turned his face back to look at me. "It does, doesn't it? That's why you never look well."

He melted into my hand. "Yeah."

"Do you _ever_ sleep?"

"Sometimes, usually only if I've had a really good day. Mostly only on the days when I see _you_." He looked at me through enormous brown eyes.

I'm not an idiot. For weeks I had been trying to avoid exactly that look and everything it could potentially mean. I had liked 'Zane'---_really_ liked him. Liked him so much it scared me. He was so attractive and easy to be with. We had a spark that I've never experienced with anyone else. I often wondered what would have happened if he had made a move just a few hours earlier, before I found out who he really was. Would I have kissed him back instead of running off to buy tuning forks? Definitely. Would I still have googled him that day and made my discovery? I don't know. Would everything have ended up more fucked up, or less? Probably infinitely more so.

I hadn't admitted it to myself before, but something Matthew said on the way to Nathan's party was true. I _had_ used Matthew to fill in for someone else, for the confusing new crush who disappeared into a nightmare. Confusing, because he was the first man I had ever felt that way about, and confusing because we only had those few days together. Then take confusing and multiply it by a thousand when I found out he was Sylar.

Now 'Zane' was back, for good. My tests had proven that his condition was permanent. In the past few weeks, I had started to think of the person who did those horrible things as someone else entirely. Therefore, the main reason for me to hold back was no longer there, but all of the overwhelmingly numerous peripheral problems remained. I could tell from that first time I went to his flat to talk about seeing him in the park that not only had his feelings as Zane been real, but that those feelings hadn't changed over the months. So I took it upon myself to keep the entire situation in check. I had been telling myself a whole host of things: that it would be too complicated, that our friendship was too important to get mucked up by giving into misguided urges. However, if what I really wanted was to keep his feelings at bay, then why did I court his company so eagerly? Why was I too pleased to admonish him when he said things like, "You're so good-looking"? Why had I been so happy to let him know I was single? Why did I desperately want to touch him?

"Obviously not always, though." I was aware that it had taken me entirely too long to respond. I was trying to diffuse the situation while I worked out my thoughts, but my stomach clenched involuntarily, telling me the answer I already knew.

"No, I guess not. Something about that movie..." The film we had started watching before we dozed off had had some scarily similar parallels to our own relationship. I wondered how it had ended. Gabriel put his head down and thought for a moment. He still wasn't completely awake. I watched as one thumb toyed delicately with the edge of his sleeve while the other arm reached up to massage the back of his head, fingers roving leisurely through the soft hair… A hungry lump grew in my throat as he bit his lip. It was an endearing little mannerism of his that signaled he was about to say something he felt he _should_ say but didn't actually want.

"So… what now? It's pretty late, but it's easier than you would think to get a cab around here. When taxis come back from dropping people in Brooklyn, they get off the Manhattan Bridge and---"

I interrupted him. I had once driven a cab for a week. This was not new information. More importantly, I had just made a major life decision. I mentally flipped through the catalogue of tactics I could take, and settled on feigned innocence. Heaven knows it had worked on him in the past.

"Would it inconvenience you too much if I stayed? It's already one. If I go through the effort of finding a cab and walking around, I'll wake up too much to fall asleep again. My only class tomorrow isn't until three, so it isn't imperative for me to be home early in the morning. I could even make you breakfast before you leave in exchange for putting me up." I laughed inside as I watched him try not to get too excited or misinterpret my meaning.

"Don't be ridiculous. You're always more than welcome to stay---there's no need to make me breakfast. The couch is actually pretty comfortable… I guess I just found that out first-hand." He became very earnest, and put his hand on my thigh. "Thanks for a really great weekend, Mohinder. Maybe you won't believe me, since I had a nightmare all the same, but honestly, this was the most non-stop fun I've had in longer than I can remember. Maybe ever."

"Thanks, me, too." I reached over and grasped his far shoulder so that we were now practically on top of each other. Pretending not to notice that he stopped breathing, I jovially continued, "Don't sound so sad! I'm not going anywhere. We have the whole week ahead of us, and next Saturday, too. We can do something every evening, if you don't think you'll get sick of me."

Gabriel gazed hopefully into my eyes. "I could never get sick of you. I…"

I've never been sure which one of us was actually responsible. I like to think that we each had a fifty percent share in the fact that we were now kissing. Kissing ravenously with his knees digging into my chest as I used the couch and one of my hands on the back of his head to steady my balance. Kissing so intently that I barely noticed when he then moved his legs apart so I could slide right up against him, his arms pulling me close. Kissing so joyously that when we finally came panting up for air, we couldn't stop grinning.

"Hey there," he said, probably for lack of any other coherent thoughts.

"Hello," I replied, feeling equally dense.

Understandably, panic crept into his face. "Mohinder, are you sure---"

"Positive." And I was. I would most likely have several nervous breakdowns about it later, but strangely enough, this was the most right I had ever felt about anything---tied with taking in Molly. Par for the course, really, in my crazy life. To drive the point home, I kissed him again, this time more gently. Gabriel seemed reassured by the time we pulled away. He tugged on one of my curls and watched it spring back into place.

"You know, if you don't have to be at work until three, maybe I'll call in sick tomorrow. I'll tell them I'm running a fever or something," he murmured into my ear.

I was about to say something silly about fevers and heat, but decided against it. We'd been doing _entirely_ too much talking.


	6. Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone is too attractive for their own good, and no one is on the same page

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as an FYI going forward, telepaths can only pick up on things that are thought in coherent phrases in a language they can understand. I know this isn't news, but some fics give them the power to pick up on images, and distinguish other people's voices in someone's memory, and stuff; this is not one of those stories.

**Mohinder's POV**:

I walked out of the Apple Store on 59th and 5th with Molly's birthday present firmly in hand (or bag, as it were). I looked down the block and stopped lying to myself about why I had taken the subway all the way up here in the middle of the afternoon instead of going to the Apple location within walking distance of my office. This was my first time going to surprise Gabriel at work, even though we had been together for a month… well, as together as one can be with a man who is not only supposed to be dead, but whom everyone would like to be.

To an outsider, it would have looked like Gabriel and I were having a shameful, torrid affair. I hated having to hide it, not just because it made me perpetually anxious, but because I wanted everyone to know how fantastic he now was. However, I found myself habitually lying to my roommate and child so I could go have sex with my boyfriend. Other people were able to have evenings that started out with a walk and dinner and ended up with tooth-brushing and sex. However, I felt like I was only ever able to have one aspect per date. Our time together was very segmented and structured. Sometimes we just went to dinner around Washington Square Park and simply chatted. At other times we took taxis to Gabriel's flat in the East Village for long lunches during which we barely had enough time to have sex, let alone to chat. Sometimes we did it in my office or the supply closet after everyone had left the biology building. Satisfying as it was, I felt dirty.

We started having sex the week of Molly's spring break. It was a little fast---faster than I actually would have wanted, but we didn't need to discuss it to know that circumstances dictated it; we had to get as much out of that week as possible. It's one thing to have a secret friend with whom you sometimes want to have dinner; it's quite another to make arrangements with a secret boyfriend whose clothes you want to rip off.

The other issue with the sex was that I sometimes found it disconcerting. Once Gabriel became comfortable with the mechanics of it, the gentle shyness he exhibited in all other aspects of his life evaporated. He became aggressive and purposeful when he touched me, and the intensity in his eyes sometimes reminded me of the look he had when he killed Peter in my apartment. I knew it was perfectly normal for quiet personalities to become much more assertive in bed. With anyone else, I would have found it incredibly sexy, but when it came to Gabriel, it frightened me, for obvious reasons. I didn't want to upset him by saying anything, especially since he was new to all this and I didn't want to foster any insecurities. Also, I knew both rationally and in my heart that there was nothing to fear. I told myself that I just needed to get used to it, because honestly, everything else---everything that was about _him_ and _us_ and _now_\---truly was perfect. It's just that the other him, and everyone else, and the past were getting in the way.

Making things even more (or possibly less?) nerve-wracking was my recent discovery that Molly was even sharper than I gave her credit for. Just the night before, the two of us had been home alone while Matthew worked late on a case. She turned to me and asked very pointedly if my ability to go on dates would be hampered by the fact that Matthew had finally worked up the courage to start seeing Heidi.

"What makes you think I go on dates?" _First things first_, I thought in alarm.

"I don't know. I just have a feeling that you do, and for some reason you don't want us to know. Am I right?"

I could lie to Molly about facts, but the bond we had built since our first meeting meant that we could never convincingly lie to each other about things that mattered. If this is it, then so be it, I thought. "Yes. But Molly… why hasn't Matthew said anything?"

"He doesn't know."

"But if you know, how can he not?"

"If I don't want him to know something, I don't think it out. I just try to feel it instead. Haven't you figured out how to do that? I know you do your language thing, but it isn't that hard, Mohinder." Sometimes I wondered if she got that snotty, know-it-all tone from her deceased parents, or from me. At the same time, I was impressed by such mental fortitude in someone so young. "Why is it a secret?"

Since we had gotten this far, I decided to tell her as much as I could. "I don't think Matthew would like him. I don't think you would, either. And I'm afraid both of you would think less of me for seeing him."

"I don't know about Matt, but I'm sure I'd like anyone you really liked. You wouldn't go out with someone who isn't nice." She suddenly looked worried. Not worried enough, I thought, with a sigh. "He _is_ nice, isn't he?"

"He's wonderful. But he didn't always used to be. He used to be rather mentally unwell, and did some horrible things." I felt guilty for putting it in such a blasé way. It sounded more blasé than I actually felt about it.

"If he was crazy, then it isn't totally his fault. I learned that watching tv with Matt. And if he's really sorry…" She shrugged. "Whatever. I'll mind my own business. I just want you to be happy." And with that, she turned back to her homework.

I was caught between the guilt of hiding from Molly the fact that I was in love with the man who murdered her parents and shot her third father, and loving her even more because of our tacit understanding that the secret was safe with her. Even though I couldn't imagine her approval would last if she discovered Gabriel's identity, I still felt irrationally happy. Part of the reason I couldn't wait to see Gabriel was so I could tell him that what he called my "weird location hang-up" would no longer be as much of an issue.

I don't know why I persisted in keeping Matthew's and Molly's abilities a secret from him. It was the last defense I had against completely trusting an ex-serial killer. It was less that I was actually afraid he might somehow---impossibly---revert, and more that I wanted a way to show myself that I hadn't simply erased the past away, that I respected and grieved for all the lives Sylar had taken. I needed something to remind me of the guilt I knew I ought to feel for being so happy with him. There hadn't been a single time we'd spent together that hadn't been fantastic. We had even somehow managed to go to a baseball game together after a long and delightfully normal argument about which team to see (I won with the Yankees).

I entered the men's building and approached a tall, good-looking man by the ties. "I'm looking for Gabriel Gray?"

"Gabriel Gray?" He made the name sound like a song. _Someone_ had a crush. "He works in corporate, which is in the building across the street, on the top floors." The man all but pouted as I thanked him and walked out. I crossed the street, entered the flagship women's building, and wandered around, feeling rather lost. I was just about to ask someone what I should do when I heard my name.

"Mohinder?" Gabriel's overwhelmingly energetic, but very sweet friend engulfed me in a warm hug. Gabriel and I had gone out with her twice, once for dinner on the Friday of Molly's spring break week, and more recently for after-work drinks at the Modern. Those were some of my favorite evenings with Gabriel; being able to spend time together in the company of other friends made me feel like I was in a regular relationship.

"Hi, Allison. Nice to see you again."

"You too, gorgeous. I'm just coming back from lunch. Are you here to visit Gabriel?"

"I was running errands in the neighborhood." I held up my bag. "I had some extra time and decided to drop in as a surprise."

She looked at me quizzically. "Why didn't you go to the one on Prince Street? That's closer to your office. 'In the neighborhood' my ass."

"Alright, you've caught me." I smiled at her.

"I'm so glad you came today. He's been in the worst mood this week, don't you think? But seeing you should cheer him up. I'll get him to come downstairs." Allison grabbed a phone from behind a nearby counter.

"Hi, Gabe. It's me. Can you come downstairs for a minute? … Just 'cause. … No you aren't. … Just get down here, ok? It's important. I'm by the 57th Street entrance." She turned back to me. "He'll be down in a minute. So, how have you been? How's Molly?"

Before I could respond, I heard my named being called again.

"Mohinder?"

_Bloody fucking hell. _

"Nathan! What are you doing here?" Usually, Nathan was practically the only person in my acquaintance about whom I felt no anxiety in seeing. Now I had to strike his name off that increasingly short list.

"Getting a Mother's Day present. I wasn't going to, but Peter's making me. He's such a chump. What are you doing here, with the women's hats?" He gestured at the sea of pastels and silk surrounding us.

"I… um…" I sputtered and trailed off. I wanted to say the same reason, but my mother was in India, and I couldn't think of anything else.

"You're Nathan Petrelli." Why was everyone singing people's names today? In my terror, I had almost forgotten Allison was there. Her eyes were shining. This was definitely not the same look she gave me and Gabriel when she pretended to flirt with us.

"Hello, hello." Nathan had his wooing face on.

_No no no,_ I screamed mentally. But they were both looking at me, eagerly expecting an introduction.

"Allison, this is Congressman Nathan Petrelli. Nathan, this is Allison Sutton… a friend of… mine. Yes. She works here, on the corporate side." Allison was giving me a look as if to ask what was wrong with me. I prayed that she would be a smart girl and somehow put it together.

"I wish I had met you before I made my purchase. You would have been the perfect person to help me pick just the right thing." I had watched Nathan exercise his charm on enough women in the past few weeks to know what he was doing.

_Why is this happening? Why did I come here? This is the worst idea I have ever had._ I thought of making a run for it, but it was too late.

"Allison, you'd better have a damn good rea---Mohinder?" Gabriel was walking towards us, looking even more appealing than usual. Now that he was a bit happier, he had started to look less peaky, and it really suited him. But this was not the time for that. I tried to convey the situation to him with my eyes, but he didn't get it. For the first time ever, I wished he did have Matthew's ability. He looked so pleased to see me that I felt terrible for not being able to return the sentiment at the moment. Not knowing that anything was wrong, he moved to give me a quick kiss on the cheek, but I avoided it. He looked miffed.

This did not go unnoticed by Nathan, who cocked an inquiring eyebrow.

"Hello, I don't believe we've met. I'm Nathan Petrelli, a friend of Mohinder's." He stretched his hand out to Gabriel, whose eyes went wide.

"Hi, I'm… Gabriel. Gabriel Gray." He gulped.

"How do you two know each other?" Nathan was searching our faces. Gabriel froze.

The tension was so thick that I could almost feel Allison start to get an inkling. "Gabriel is my best friend here at work. He's come sometimes when Mohinder and I get together," she interjected. She shot a look at me to ask if she had said the right thing. I nodded slightly. "I was about to ask how _you two_ know each other. Our adorably dorky professor doesn't seem like the political type."

Now it was Nathan's turn to think of an appropriate answer. He couldn't very well tell her that we first met when I tried to warn him that someone---the man standing in front of us, as it so happened---might kill him because he could fly.

"Er… well, we met through my brother many months ago. I actually don't remember how."

"Oh, you know. This and that." I hoped that didn't sound as stupid as I thought it did.

"That reminds me, Mohinder, you're coming over to Pete's tonight, aren't you? He's making us fajitas."

"Your brother, Peter? Is he doing better? I remember reading that he was ill, and then missing," Allison gushed.

"Oh, yeah, he's definitely better. At least for now. You never know what kind of trouble he'll get into next, though. It seems to follow him around. Thanks for asking." Nathan took her hand in 'gratitude'. Gabriel and I exchanged a glance. He looked faint; I assumed he was floored by the gravity of the situation. Nathan snapped out of it and turned back to me. "But you're coming, right, Mohinder? He's counting on it."

"Oh, of course." I didn't actually remember making this plan, but my mind was so numb that I would have agreed to anything just then.

"Great. See you at seven. I should get going. Nice to meet you, Gabriel. And you, too, Allison." Just before he exited through the revolving doors, he leveled his very best bedroom eyes at her, and she gave him the same right back. Now that Nathan had left, I was excited to finally be able to talk to Gabriel, but he grabbed Allison by the arm and started pulling her away.

"I really need to get back to work. Bye, Mohinder."

"Bye, Mohinder!" Allison turned and waved. She looked a bit confused. After that whirlwind of disaster, I found myself in the same position I was in ten minutes before: standing idiotically alone by thousand-dollar women's hats. I headed out and over to the subway, wishing I had never come. I hadn't even gotten to talk to Gabriel, who must have been very busy indeed if he had to rush away like that. He also looked terribly upset, and I wished I could tease him until he felt better. What dreadful timing. That's what you get for trying to be spontaneous.

 

**Gabriel's POV**:

I was eating a sandwich at my desk and putting unnecessarily obsessive finishing touches on a powerpoint presentation when the phone rang. It was Allison trying to get me to come downstairs for no apparent reason.

"I'm busy!"

"No, you aren't."

"Yeah, but---" She cut me off.

"Just get down here, ok? It's important. I'm by the 57th Street entrance." She hung up before I could protest further. Ugh. I got up and headed downstairs, wondering what the hell was going on, and feeling more than a little irritated about being bossed around.

I wasn't busy, but I did want to be left alone. I was having a shitty week. Nothing particularly terrible had happened; it was just one of those weeks. When the toilet breaks but the plumber can't come until Saturday, when the person you sit next to at work won't stop sniffling, when a passing bus splashes oily gutter water all over your new suit, when you leave Starbucks with the wrong coffee, when winter's finally over but it's been raining for four days straight. When your boyfriend hasn't been able to get away long enough to see you in five days and you're feeling not only lonely and hopeless about the whole thing, but also sexually frustrated.

When I got downstairs, I spotted Allison and became pissed off all over again. "Allison, you'd better have a damn good rea---" But I melted when I recognized the back clad in a jacket that I had picked out standing next to her. "Mohinder?"

Mohinder turned around and looked me up and down appreciatively. What was he doing here? He never surprised me; all of our interactions were scheduled and orchestrated down to the last detail. Even though there was no way around it, I hated the complete lack of spontaneity in our relationship, which is why I was so excited to see him unexpectedly like this. I practically skipped towards them and tried to kiss him. There was no reason not to. The only people around were Allison and a bunch of old ladies we didn't know, but he avoided my touch. I was hurt and about to say something about it when I realized there actually was someone else in the vicinity.

"Hello, I don't believe we've met. I'm Nathan Petrelli, a friend of Mohinder's."

_Holy shit._ Mohinder had told me that the whole flying-away-to-explode thing had happened pretty quickly, and without a chance for him to even see me lying there, but still. I managed to stutter my name out.

"How do you two know each other?" I didn't think anything could be worse than asking my name, but this actually was. Thankfully, Allison seemed to pick up on the fact that something was terribly wrong, because she chimed in.

"Gabriel is my best friend here at work. He's come sometimes when Mohinder and I get together. I was about to ask how you two know each other. Our adorably dorky professor doesn't seem like the political type." Was this the story they had been selling before I arrived? Apparently so, since now she and Mohinder were looking at each other conspiratorially, as if they were each other's best friends, and I was just some pathetic third wheel. I felt sick with jealousy, sick to find myself in this position. The only thing that kept me from wanting to cry was the hilarious look on Nathan's face as he tried to figure out what to say.

"Er, we met through my brother many months ago. I actually don't remember how."

"Oh, you know. This and that." What? That was the dumbest fucking thing I'd ever heard Mohinder say. But then it got worse…

"That reminds me, Mohinder. You're coming over to Pete's tonight, aren't you? He's making us fajitas."

"Your brother, Peter? I hope he's doing better. I remember reading that he was ill and then missing."

"Oh, yeah, he's definitely better. At least for now. You never know what kind of trouble he'll get into next, though. It seems to follow him around. Thanks for asking. But you're coming, right, Mohinder? He's counting on it."

I was so upset that I almost didn't have energy left to care that Nathan was unknowingly talking about me. Not only was he trying to break my date with Mohinder, but now the guy was getting all handsy with _my_ girlfriend. I mean, she wasn't my girlfriend, but... yeah. I was so angry that I had to hold the display counter for support. Mohinder looked at me for the first time in the whole conversation, and then he broke my heart.

"Oh, of course," he said.

He didn't even look at me apologetically. It was as if he didn't even remember. What was Mohinder doing double booking on the only night I was going to be able to see him this week?

"Great. See you at seven. I should get going. Nice to meet you, Gabriel." I nodded dismissively in Nathan's direction. "And you, too, Allison." The bastard gave her the eye again as he left, and she actually gave it right back.

I officially hated _everyone._

Now that Nathan was gone, Mohinder looked like he was about to start babbling, but for the first time ever, I didn't feel like listening. I was being a semi-unjustifiably pissy asshole, and I didn't care. Even though I knew it was unfair, I wanted him to feel as rejected as that whole scenario had made me feel. So I grabbed Allison and started dragging her away.

"I really need to get back to work. Bye, Mohinder." The forlorn look on his face as Allison also waved goodbye simultaneously gratified and killed me.

"Wait, what are you doing? Why did we just leave Mohinder?" she asked when we got to the elevators. "Why did you just drag me away from the best five minutes of my entire life? Oh my god, between you and Mohinder and Nathan Petrelli… hotness."

I had never seen her like this before. I was annoyed, but then again, I was annoyed by everything this week. "I don't want to talk to him right now."

"Why? He came to surprise you. He was being so cute---"

"Yeah, he probably only came by because he felt guilty about the fact that he's going to Peter _fucking_ Petrelli's house tonight, even though we were supposed to meet up."

She got a scandalized look on her face and then calmed down. "I'm sure he didn't mean to stand you up. He looked pretty confused just then. Maybe he just forgot in the stress. Speaking of which, what the hell was going on back there? You were all acting really weird. Is Nathan one of the people---"

"Sort of. He doesn't know who I am---almost none of them do, come to think of it, but Peter's one of the ones who would recognize me if he saw me. All Nathan knows is that some guy caused a lot of trouble for his brother back when I was…" I couldn't finish the sentence.

"So, the only beef you and Nathan have is that he's Peter's brother." I nodded. "So, this is really about Peter."

"Yeah. He clearly has the hots for Mohinder, which is just another reason why I don't like that Mohinder sees him so often. Peter has… ways of learning secrets. If he finds out what's going on, he'll kill me."

She scoffed. "I really doubt it. I saw pictures of the guy in the Post last fall. He seems like a harmless emo twit."

"No, he's incredibly dangerous," I replied in a very serious voice.

"Um… if you say so." She sounded incredulous. I would have thought the same thing, though, if I didn't have first-hand knowledge. "You know, he has depression issues, too. Maybe if you guys got to know each other better, you'd realize you have a lot in common and not be in… hate." We both knew she was lamely grasping at straws with that one.

"I think it's too late for that. We definitely had things in common once, but not anymore. Just Mohinder." I mused on how frustrated I used to be about his very existence. He had more abilities than I did, and he didn't even have to kill people or be a nutjob. I hated him all over again. Hated his stupid face when he started to glow. Hated the gently familiar way he had called out Mohinder's name that day in the apartment. Hated that he got to cook fajitas for Mohinder. Hated myself for having killed him... multiple times.

Allison was looking deeply into my face as I remembered everything that had happened. I think for the first time, she really truly got it. "This really is serious, isn't it?"

"Yes," I said, quietly. I looked at the floor as we got out of the elevator. She pushed me into a conference room so we could be alone.

"What did you do to him?"

"You know I can't talk about it."

"Ok, ok, fine. I'll leave you alone, but I just want you to know that you can talk to me, if you ever feel ready. I won't tell and I won't judge and I won't… freak out." She gave me a meaningful look, but when I didn't respond, she shrugged and let it go. "Listen Gabe, even if Peter did make a move, Mohinder wouldn't be into it. These mystery issues you guys have are seriously fucked up, but he only has eyes for you. You know that. So stop being an idiot." She gave me a hug and left the conference room. I went back to my desk, and sulked.

She was right, but I didn't want to admit it to myself. I knew I shouldn't be mad, but I _wanted_ to be.

All of the logistical issues sucked. I was dating one of the smartest, hottest, most amazing people on the planet, and only one other person knew. We could never do the things that I think normal couples did. We had lots of sex, which was great, but not sleepovers. Because of his bizarre I-have-to-be-where-they-expect-me-to-be thing (I hated that he wouldn't tell me what the deal was; did they have a locator chip implanted in his neck or something?) I stayed at his place almost every night during that week when Matt and Molly were away. I could tell it was an enormous trust breakthrough for him, and I loved it. I loved lying next to him and tracing the lines of his bones and just watching him breathe. I loved the little mumbles he made if I kissed him while he was asleep. Even though he was grumpy, I loved going through the morning routine with him. But it had only lasted for that one week. These days I found myself fantasizing as much about sleeping with him---actual sleep---as I did about sex, I guess because I couldn't have it.

Another thing was that I was paranoid that he didn't like having sex with me. He sometimes got this nervous look on his face, like he was afraid I was about to do something odd and not-pleasurable. I hated seeing him get taken out of the moment like that. I didn't know what to do, and I was too scared to ask if I was touching him the wrong way or something. I read all the books I could find, but nothing gave me a hint of what I might be doing wrong.

Generally speaking, I was happier than I had ever been. We always had a great time together. He made me laugh and always had interesting things to tell me. I loved the look in his eyes that told me he was feeling as good as I was. I'd never had sex before, but I felt that I could honestly say that it wasn't possible for it to be better. He made me feel safe like nothing else ever could. He made me feel special in a way that none of the stolen abilities ever had. We both had our moments when we thought about all the things I had done, but we always pushed it away again. Being with Mohinder was greater than even the most extravagant fantasies I used to have about what it might be like. It was so great that it made up for all the other complications. However, I think what had just happened downstairs snapped something in me that had been tense for weeks, and now that I was finally confronting some of the less blissful things I was feeling, I wanted to wallow in it. So I sat there for the rest of the afternoon, not answering Mohinder's calls, and quietly torturing myself.


	7. Fajitas and Fights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we pick up from last chapter, meaning there is clueless Mohinder, pissy Gabriel, and Petrelli shenanigans

**Mohinder's POV**

Nathan poked his head of out the kitchen door while he uncorked a bottle of wine. "So Mohinder… your friend this afternoon was pretty smokin.'"

I was about to automatically reply, "Yes, he is," when I caught myself and realized that I wasn't sure which friend he meant. So I just said, "Mmmm," and waited for another prompt.

"And her friend certainly seems into you."

Peter tripped over the coffee table, and I caught him absent-mindedly. "Oh, I don't know," I waffled.

"Who are you guys talking about?" Peter asked.

Nathan came back into the living room with three glasses and two bottles. "I bought mom some purposefully hideous jewelry today---"

"Nathan!" Peter scolded.

Nathan ignored him. "---and ran into Mohinder with two friends of his who work at Bergdorf's up in the corporate side. You're a man of mystery, Mohinder. I never would have guessed you were so plugged into the high fashion society set." He looked at my outfit and shook his head. I was starting to get frustrated with the constant criticism of my wardrobe and taste---even Molly had had something to say about one of my sweaters. "So, what's her deal? Is she available? Now that your roommate is dating my wife---ex-wife---I've got to get back out there, and she seemed great. I kind of feel like I'm back in college, dating in the same little circle. We're a pretty incestuous group of weirdos, aren't we?" Peter and Nathan exchanged a wink that I didn't understand, but which was different from their usual off-putting little winks.

"Um, she has a boyfriend, but I think things are rocky right now. The hedge fund he works for wants him to transfer to London. I could put in a good word for you."

"Do. I was thinking of calling her up at work… I have to think of some legitimate reason first, though. Would you mind?" I shook my head. Did I have a choice? I figured it would be ok. She knew enough for Gabriel and me to be able to brief her. "So anyway, that guy was all over you. What's his deal?"

"Gabriel?" I could feel myself blushing, but I made sure to keep my thoughts secret and foreign. "He's very sweet. But I don't think he's…." I trailed off, unable to quite finish the lie. I had spent the whole afternoon, and even the evening before realizing how tired of lying I was, but the last thing I wanted to do was put Gabriel into any danger. The spectre of Bennet, Matt, and guns loomed large in both of our nightmares.

"You should have seen it, Pete. The guy comes bounding up to Mohinder here, and tries to plant one on him, and Mohinder had to jump back like 'what the hell are you doing'?"

I felt even more depressed upon hearing it described that way. I really wished Gabriel had picked up the phone after lunch. I had been distraught all day not knowing if he was upset with me about that or if he understood but was simply in meetings all day.

 

"Poor guy," Peter said. "He's probably infatuated with you, and is feeling rejected. It's a common scenario."

Nathan choked on his wine, and I wondered who was making Peter feel rejected. He was an interesting case. Even though he generally remained aloof, it seemed that half people Peter encountered were head over heels in love with him, and the other half found him exceedingly annoying. I felt like I was the only person who fell into the middle ground.

Thankfully, we started talking about other things. Nathan always had gripping tales of political scandal to tell. Peter floated different small bowls with fajita ingredients over to the table from the kitchen. He said he was practicing control. Telekinesis was always the most fascinating ability to watch in motion. For some reason, of all of them, it was the one that almost made me forget about science and consider believing in magic. It got me to thinking of… Peter gently shocked me (literally) to get me out of my reverie. Soon, we had finished the entire feast, as well as most of the wine. I finally started to relax. Even though I had been too preoccupied to be excited about this last-minute dinner date, I was glad I came. It was good to be distracted from my own thoughts. Nathan unfortunately had to leave early, which surprised me, given that he was the one who had urged me to come.

"See you guys. I have to take the Acela down to Washington early tomorrow morning. There are bills to vote on," he said, as he put on his coat.

"I'm just a bill. Yes, I'm only a bill. And I'm sitting here on Capitol Hill…" I had no idea what Peter was singing, but Nathan laughed. He clapped me on the back, and then mauled his brother. Watching them always unnerved me. I looked away as they whispered mysteriously. Nathan gave Peter one last shoulder rub and left us alone.

I took a deep breath. Peter and I had actually become very close in the past month. Matthew was always setting up dinners, and Nathan invited us to parties. Between the three of them, Gabriel, and Molly, I hadn't been this busy in years. I became less nervous about keeping my secrets around Peter as I got to know him better. The language barrier worked just as well on him as it did on Matthew. More importantly, he was so disorganized about his many abilities that he often didn't have them 'turned on', and he was definitely more considerate than Matthew when it came to people's mental privacy.

However, even though I wasn't overly worried about him reading my mind, he made me nervous in a much more normal way. He had a brooding intensity that dated back to the very first time we met, and it had only gotten stronger. It always took a few minutes to get used to it, especially when a more outgoing personality, such as Nathan or Matthew, left the scene. Peter's demeanor always seemed influenced by the people around him. Sometimes I wondered if he acted differently when I left the room, but I couldn't imagine what influence I could possibly have over him.

I started telling Peter about the month-long father-daughter trip I was planning to India and England while we cleaned up. He was still trying to practice his telekinesis, but after he broke two glasses, I insisted upon drying them by hand. When we were done, we went back to the living room to finish our wine and eat dessert.

"So, do you have any vacation plans for this summer?" I asked, after an awkward pause.

"I think I might go on a trip, but I'm not sure where. I mean, I don't have to pay for airfare or anything, which is cool. I've been feeling stuck in a rut, stuck in my own head."

He was sitting uncomfortably close to me. _These people have no conception of personal space,_ I thought, as I tried to subtly keep my distance. I assumed he was just tipsy and not aware of how he was leaning.

"You _have_ seemed rather down about something for weeks."

"Yeah, kind of," he said, still leaning in.

Then something strange happened. A notion wholly unconnected to anything I had ever thought before popped into my head. Even though my gut asked my brain what the hell it was thinking, I suddenly felt the need to narrow the space between us and return the kiss that Peter was now giving me. He seemed relieved that I was responding, for he shifted closer to me, and kissed me more vigorously. I was aware of parts of my brain dueling for control, but whatever was compelling me was winning.

When we finally pulled away, the compulsion lifted, and I jumped up in alarm. "Oh my god oh my god," I said, pulling my hair. "Why did I just do that? How did that just happen? I don't understand." I was completely confused. I had never once thought of Peter in that way. All I could think about was Gabriel and how devastating this was, but I successfully struggled to keep his name out of my head. Molly's tip about feeling, not thinking, was a good one. I decided to practice it.

Peter's eyes went wide. He looked terrified and crestfallen. "Oh, Mohinder. I think that was me. I think I just made you do that. I didn't mean to, I swear. I'm so sorry."

I remembered Matthew's newish ability, and that Peter had it, as well. "Oh," I said. I felt violated, despite the fact I'd never been in a kiss so devoid of passion before…

Peter was hysterical. "I can't believe I did that. I think I was thinking so hard that I wanted you to kiss me back, that I must have accidentally projected it. You know I'm not the greatest at controlling my abilities. Sometimes they slip out, but it's never happened in such a bad way before… well, you know, except that one time… I'm sorry. Oh god. So, does this mean you didn't want to at all?"

"I'm sorry, Peter, but no." I was shocked that _he_ had wanted to.

"Is there someone else? Or is it just me?"

"No, no. You're lovely." My mind was racing so fast that I barely knew what I was saying. I was vaguely aware that I sounded like my mother.

"So it's someone else?"

I nodded. "But it's rather impossible, so I don't want to talk about it." Lies. I wanted nothing more than to talk about it. I simply couldn't take hiding the thing that mattered most to me anymore. Maybe it was the wine, or some lingering telepathic compulsion, or even just simple friendship, but I really wanted to tell him something, any small part of it. Sometimes I worried that I was slowly going mad with all the secrecy. We looked into each others' eyes for what felt like ages, and all of my rapid thoughts coalesced into a flash of understanding (about time). "There's someone for you, too, isn't there?"

He nodded slowly and I could see the confusion leave his eyes, as well as (thankfully) any desire for me, as he started to see what was going on. "Yeah," he said. "It's also… kind of impossible."

Now that I had finally stopped being an idiot, all sorts of realizations were rushing to me. I remembered his cryptic confession at Nathan's victory party. "This has nothing to do with me, does it? What is it that makes me a magnet for confused, lonely hearts?"

"I think you're just a magnet, in general." He chuckled sadly. "But especially with this… I don't know. I've had this feeling you would understand more than anyone else. I honestly don't know why. I'm sorry. I think somehow wanting to talk to you, but I was scared to, and then I obsessed about it… I got confused, and it translated into wanting… something else entirely. Wanting you would make much more sense than what's really going on. I haven't told anyone the truth; everyone would think I was crazy and pathetic. Although I'm not sure how much more pathetic I could feel than I do right now. Geez, I've just embarrassed myself completely, haven't I?" He looked utterly demoralized.

A lot of that sounded familiar. Maybe he was right. Maybe there was something about being an empath, after all. I sat down next to him again, suddenly calm and resolute. "I don't think you're pathetic. And don't feel embarrassed. It could happen to anyone. It happened to me and Matthew. At least you realized before it became an issue. Why don't you tell me? I promise I won't think you're crazy."

"I don't know if I can. It's really bad." His words contradicted the desperation in his eyes. He wanted to get whatever it was off his chest as badly as I did.

"Try me," I said.

 

**Gabriel's POV**

I made myself sick with worry and despair all afternoon and evening. I sat at work long after everyone else had left, working myself up into a lather about losing Mohinder, and about everything else I hated about my life. After awhile, I looked up Peter's address on Superpages. I knew it was wrong and unhealthy, but I couldn't stop myself. He lived in Murray Hill with all the other trust fund douchebags.

I don't know why I did it, and I knew I shouldn't, but I bundled myself up, went to his neighborhood, and hung out in a shadow on the block, waiting for Mohinder to come out, and thinking dark but unspecific thoughts, just in case Petrelli picked up on people outside his building.

I saw Nathan leave just as I arrived but it was another couple of hours until I finally saw Mohinder leave and start walking towards the subway. A thousand nightmarish images ran through my mind in the interim. He had this blissed-out look on his face that made my blood boil.

I started walking closely behind him. He didn't notice me. "I hope you enjoyed yourself," I whispered viciously into his ear when I caught up to him. He jumped a mile. I grabbed his arm and sat us both down on a brownstone's stoop.

"Gabriel, what on earth…?" He looked caught somewhere between being glad to see me, and being creeped out. It was the same look he had in bed sometimes, and it freaked me out, because he'd never used it outside before. I tried not to think about that. The fact that there wasn't a trace of guilt on his face made me even angrier

"So, how were Peter and Nathan? I hope they were fun enough to make up for ditching me for tonight." I stared at him angrily. He just looked confused.

"Tonight? What are you talking about?"

"_We_ had a date for tonight, but you went out with _them_ instead."

"No. Don't you remember? We talked about this. It was between today and tomorrow, but said you wanted to watch House tonight. It's a special episode… or something? I don't know. So we decided to go for dinner after my department's end-of-semester cocktail party tomorrow."

"Oh." He was right. I suddenly felt ridiculous. Dammit, and I had missed the season finale of House, too. Instead of becoming reasonable, the frustration just fueled my anger. I had spent nine hours stewing, and I wasn't ready to give up the fight I had been preparing for.

"Have you been working yourself up all day about that?" He laughed. I could tell it was partly teasing and partly nervous laughter after having been frightened by my sudden appearance. Even though I knew why he was doing it, it sent me over the edge.

"Yes, actually," I said tersely. What upset me even more is that he didn't seem to understand, or didn't want to understand, how furious I was, even though I no longer quite knew exactly what I was furious about. I was about to start letting him have it, but he kept babbling.

"Well, I have great news that should calm you down. I really don't think we have anything to fear from Peter. He's so kind, Gabriel. I think if it ever came to the test, he could be brought around to---" I cut him off.

"I'm so sick of this!" I shouted.

"Sick of what?" He looked startled, which meant that he still didn't get it.

"Everything. Sneaking around, never seeing you, having nightmares, having to come up with insane half-truths to explain stuff to other people, listening to stories about your precious friends, who, if you remember, want to _kill_ me, or _would_ if everyone didn't think I was dead! And then you come here all happy and carefree from a date with that twerp!"

He didn't say anything for a minute. He just took a deep breath and stared at me. It was thoroughly unsatisfying. Screaming is no fun if the other person doesn't scream back. "What is wrong with you today?" he asked quietly.

"I'm in a bad mood, ok?"

"No, it's not ok. I know things are rough, but you're acting like a complete asshole."

"So? I'm allowed to be an asshole when I feel like it!"

"No you aren't! Don't you understand that watching you act like this is terrifying for me? Don't you know what it reminds me of? Do you think I've just forgotten everything you've done? That I don't care? That I don't feel confused every single day but love you anyway?"

"That isn't fair. I don't know how much more sorry I can be for everything. I spend all day every day trying to be the most ridiculously angelic person ever to prove to everyone and myself that I'm harmless. It's draining. And I'm obviously not getting anywhere if I have one bad day and all of a sudden you're looking at me like that. Like you think I'm about to hurt you. I hate that look!" It was good to let that out.

Mohinder switched to blank as he mulled that over. It was angry thinking, and I felt sadistically glad that I had finally succeeded in pissing him off. "Fine. Point taken. I'll qualify my previous statement." God, I hated that snotty tone. "You aren't allowed to act like an asshole when you do it in a scary, psycho stalker way. You hate my look? How about your look? The one you have right now. A Sylar look. I know it shouldn't, but it scares me. You do it more often than you realize." Then it hit me. What all of that had been about. No wonder I hadn't found the answer in any of the sex books. I was floored. "You do see that it's scary to see you get riled like this? I know you aren't going to hurt anyone, but it's hard to wipe the images from my memory."

I almost wanted to apologize, but we were on a roll, and I still wanted to stick it to him. "I have images, too, you know. How about you pulling the trigger at me? Huh? But I don't get all nervous when you get upset that you're going to do it again. But maybe, it's because I know _it wouldn't take_. Only you could shoot people in the face at point blank range and not have killed anyone yet. Pathetic." It was low, but it worked. He started trembling with rage.

"You bastard…" he whispered.

I immediately regretted going there. I knew how traumatized he was by the whole Bennet thing. "Wait, Mohinder. I'm sorry."

"How dare you!" He pushed me off him and tried to get up and walk away, but I grabbed him by the jacket and pulled him back down.

"No, really. I'm sorry I said that. That was uncalled for. It's just that… I've just been thinking the most awful things all day. The way you just didn't look at me when Nathan wasn't around… I know you had to, and I know it's for the best, but it's really frustrating. And I just hate the idea of you and Peter being such good friends."

I watched him force himself to calm down. "Gabriel, I really don't get it. Why are you so fixated on him? What has he ever done to you? In each circumstance, it's only what you have ever done to _him!_" That really stung, but I was starting to come off the high place of anger, and I knew he didn't quite mean it like that. I was just starting to feel really sad and tired, and I think he was, too.

"So are you on his side now?"

"No! I just want to understand what your lingering problem with him is."

I think I ran out of steam there, because my anger randomly evaporated into depression. "It's just that… I don't know. He has everything I've ever wanted, and without even having to try." I had never said it, or even thought it so coherently before. I think it went beyond Peter, actually. I think I had often felt that about a lot of people, long before I had abilities. Mohinder seemed to get it, because he took a deep breath and somehow managed to look kind while being exasperated.

"Gabriel. What does he have that you don't have? Fine. Lots of abilities. For what it's worth, you once did, too, and you were a much better master of them. And, anyway, what good have abilities ever done either of you? You went mad, and he… well, let's not elaborate on the string of disasters he's gotten himself into. Next. He has a family. Yes, his brother loves him, but you've never seen them together. They're… unsettling. And his mother has no qualms about killing either of them to suit her purposes. And yes, he's rich, but he doesn't do anything with the money, and the fact that you didn't grow up so privileged made you a stronger person, I think. Plus, think of the things you have that he doesn't. A highly coveted and very glamorous job; he isn't doing anything right now. You have a good friend, and I'm sure you'll make more as time passes; do you know, for such a good person, I think Matthew and I are his only close friends apart from Nathan? You have infinitely better hair. And lastly, you have me. Apparently, I'm irresistibly magnetic. _That's_ something."

He wasn't at all vain, so I'm pretty sure he was being sarcastic about that last one, but it made me grin despite myself. "Don't get cocky. It doesn't suit you."

"That's better." He smiled back and kissed me before getting serious for one last bout. "So you have a horrible past. I'm not shoving that under the rug, but do you know what? He almost released a virus that would have killed the entire world. So calm the fuck down and stop feeling insecure. You've only been back for two months, and look at how much better your life is already than it used to be." He snuggled into my arms, and I knew he was right.

"Thanks, Mohinder," I whispered.

"Anytime," he said. We sat quietly for a few minutes. "So, that was our first fight," he murmured.

I wanted to laugh. "Hardly. Wow, you must be more over it than you think if you don't remem�""

"Oh. Right. Well, our first completely normal, non-murderous fight," he corrected. "I think it was good that we did this, although perhaps the middle of the street wasn't the most ideal place."

"Yeah." We were quiet again.

"Gabriel, there's one last thing."

"Yeah?"

"I'm going to tell you this, but I don't want you to get upset. Do you promise?" I nodded. I had no idea what was going on. "He kissed me."

"_WHAT?!_" I had just started to feel better, but now my worst nightmare had come true, and all the fears and anger came rushing back. I shook him off me.

"I'm telling you because I don't want to keep it a secret. It wasn't anything you should worry or be angry about." His calm and matter-of-fact manner was unbelievable.

"Someone with countless superpowers just made a move on you, and you're telling me I shouldn't worry about it? Part of the reason I was so upset today was because I had this awful premonition that something would happen, and that his brother was totally behind it. This afternoon, I felt like everyone was conspiring to take you away from me, and I couldn't do anything about it."

He looked genuinely surprised. "You thought he was interested in me? Why didn't you say anything?"

"Well, I thought you had to already know. If _I_ could tell without having even been around the guy, I figured you could. Plus, I was paranoid. I might have been wrong, but I didn't want to put ideas in your head by telling you what I was scared of." He jumped when I said 'putting ideas in your head.'

"That's why it was so shocking. I'm usually pretty quick about knowing when people are interested in me enough to make it known. But I was right! A second after he did it, he realized that didn't want me at all… he was just feeling lost and confused. Maybe I didn't notice because it wasn't a real feeling."

"So you're saying he kissed you, but isn't into you? That doesn't make any sense, Mohinder." Even though that was the most suspicious thing I'd heard all night, I somehow believed him.

"Exactly. He's pining over someone else. His own would-be mass murderer, as a matter of fact. It's astounding how similar the stories are---bonding in close quarters, deceit, road trips---come to think of it, why didn't they just teleport to Texas from Maine?... oh, Peter." Mohinder rolled his eyes. "Anyway. Also hidden motivations behind lofty-sounding quests, bloody murders of people they'd gone to visit, lots of individual killings but they were thwarted before the biggest one by a disappearing Japanese man with a sword. Doesn't that all sound familiar? We had a nice little heart-to-heart about you and Adam." He smiled as if what he was saying was perfectly sane. This was all so nuts that I wondered if the pressure and stress of being with me was making him crack up.

"Have you lost your mind, Mohinder? What the hell were you thinking? You told him? You fucking told him? Are you trying to get me killed?" I couldn't believe it. I wanted to start running away right that minute, but Mohinder held me back.

"It's alright. Really it is. I didn't tell him everything. I just told him about the road trip. And explained what was going on just before he came to my apartment. And that I saw the potential for goodness in you, and regretted rejecting you when you called. And that despite everything, I missed you when you died. It was such a relief, Gabriel. I didn't mention that you weren't still dead, _obviously._" He beamed at me bizarrely. "That's what I was trying to tell you a minute ago. I think if anything happens---although let's hope it doesn't---he might actually be on our side."

All of a sudden, I was tired of being angry. My vocal cords hurt, I was getting cold, and he looked so ridiculously pleased. It dawned on me that it was probably really hard for him, too. I got to gush about him all the time with Allison. He didn't have that. The only friend we ever went out with was _my_ friend. And here I was kibitzing because he had finally found someone he felt it was safe to talk to. He wouldn't have told if he didn't think it would be ok. So I decided to stop and change the subject.

"You missed me when I was dead?" I actually hadn't known that.

"Yes. Strange, isn't it?" We smiled at each other, not needing to say anything more.

I suddenly remembered the blissed-out look he had when he left Peter's apartment. "What were you thinking about before you saw me just now?"

"I was thinking that after the summer, I should get my own apartment. Molly's a rational child. She told me yesterday that she 'just wants me to be happy' and it made me think. Actually, that's partly why I came to visit you today. I wanted to see what you thought about it, and to tell you that even though we still need to be careful, we don't need to be quite as paranoid as before. I doubt she expects Matthew and me to live together forever. Especially now that Matthew has started seeing someone, I'm sure he's going to start thinking that he wants his own space."

"Yeah, I guess I'm not the only one who wants to get laid from time to time."

Mohinder hit me. "I was thinking maybe Matthew and I could do a weekly switch off, or something along those lines. Then during the weeks when she's staying with him…"

"I can come over and be an asshole?"

"Sure."


	8. The Calm Before the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the boys attempt to achieve something akin to normalcy

**Mohinder's POV**:

I woke up slowly and luxuriously---so luxuriously in fact, that I had a split second of panic that something was wrong. The lack of alarm clock, the lack of street noise, the heavenly comfort of the bedding, the utter warmth and safety I felt seemed too good to be true. But it _was_ true.

Gabriel was breathing peacefully into the back of my neck. I desperately wanted to look at him. Trying not to wake him or dislodge the arm he had around me, I managed to carefully turn my body around so that I was facing him, and scooted up just a bit on the pillow so that we wouldn't be breathing in one another's exhalations (I hate that). Gabriel's only responses to my machinations were some soft little mumbles and a tightening of his grip around my waist.

It's practically a cliché for people to look angelic as they sleep. As in most things, Gabriel defied the norm. When he slept, all the worries, guilt, fear, and regret that bound him during waking hours were stripped away to reveal the deep-seated and awe-inspiring strength that formed the bedrock of who he was. He didn't look pure and innocent; the calm granted him by sleep made him seem, if possible, even more tangible, real, and masculine than he did when he was awake.

He had told me about the sort of logical, yet totally insane thought processes that had led to his time as Sylar. He said that it was because he had felt so weak as merely Gabriel Gray. The thing is, I had a hard time seeing Gabriel as weak; his problem had been a lack of an outlet to make use of the force of will that he always had. To lead such an isolated life, bound by his family situation, and just general bad luck, was to repress all of that and cause it to turn into something very destructive. Already, in his few short months leading a more social life, he had shown such strength of character and such aptitude for everything he did, that I sometimes wondered if his original ability had actually simply been an enhancement of something that was already there, rather than something completely new, the way flying was. Plus, only someone stronger than Sylar could have conquered what it meant to have lived those nightmarish seven months and formed a new life as well as he had. Gabriel was exceptional.

I thought about all these things as I ghosted my fingers up and down his sides. I counted his ribs without actually touching him, for fear of waking him and ending this little moment for myself. The best part was that I knew that even when the moment ended, which it must, the next part of the morning was sure to be just as wonderful.

I felt him stir a bit, moving his legs so that they intertwined with mine, and our bare hip bones dug into one another. I think the slight discomfort of that is what started to wake him up, because he began grousing adorably. I wanted to make his entrance into the day as pleasant as mine had been, so I kissed him on the forehead and on each eyelid before he opened them.

"Morning," I whispered, as I let our cheeks graze against one another.

"Hrmph mrmr," he replied, stiffening for a second and then relaxing again. He stretched a bit before pulling me in even closer. "What time is it?" he asked sleepily.

"I don't know, but I don't think it's late. I don't have to be anywhere until noon." We were staying in the Charles Hotel for a genetics conference at Harvard. Gabriel had taken two days off from work to accompany me.

"Mmm, right answer," he said, and angled his head down to kiss me with dry lips. "I could get used to this."

"Get used to what? Staying in nice places? Yes, I dare say you could," I joked. When we arrived the evening before, stiff from four hours on a train, Gabriel had endeared himself by being adorably wide-eyed about everything in the place. He had admitted that the motels we stayed at during our road trip were more what he was used to. What he didn't know was that NYU had actually wanted to put me up in that horrific and ridiculous Sheraton that sits literally over I-90, and that I had paid for the difference between that and this, the nicest hotel in Cambridge.

"Well, yeah, that, too. But I meant more waking up like this. With you."

"I know," I said. "Me, too. But just think, after this, we only have a week in New York, and then we can do it all over again."

"Paris," he murmured. "When they take one look at you, they'll forget all about the clothes and just put you on display instead. Gorgeous." He was methodically massaging my back muscles in a downward motion, and rubbing his foot all the way up and down my leg. I was so happy that I had to bite my lip.

It was actually a season for work trips. Gabriel had one coming up, to attend the June fashion shows in Paris. I had told Matt and Molly that I was attending a conference there, too (with the university school year over, I had a lot of free time for research and work-related travel). At this news, Matt had simply grumbled that it was going to be like when I was doing my world tour, and that at this rate, we might as well just alternate custody. Molly had given me a knowing wink, but hadn't said or verbally thought anything. I was almost too excited about that trip. Gabriel had never been abroad before, and I hadn't been to Paris since I was in university. I would never admit it, but ever since we had made the arrangements a couple of weeks ago, I had been constantly daydreaming about making out on the Pont des Arts.

"I think we're going to get spoiled," I said as he rolled me over. I tried to fight back so I could lie on top of him, but damn him, he was simply bigger than I was. I sometimes caught myself wondering what it would have been like to be with him when he had all of those abilities… it might have been almost unbearably good, what he might have been able to do with… but no, it was unhealthy and dangerous to think like that.

"Nah. I think we deserve it," he whispered, and started nibbling on my neck.

"I think you're right," I replied. I reached my arm out and started groping for my glasses so I could see him better. He didn't really understand what I was doing.

"What is it you want?" he asked in confusion.

After finally feeling the glasses and putting them on, I took advantage of the distraction and his confusion to flip us over and pin him down with my wrists and knees. He may have been bigger and stronger, but I've always found a way to even the playing field. "Breakfast," I replied, with as seductive a smirk as I could muster.

 

**Gabriel's POV**

Mohinder had turned me on to Teuscher chocolates. After one taste of the champagne truffles a few weeks before, I was obsessed. It was becoming a problem. Thankfully (or not so thankfully?) there was a shop near work, on Madison. I was walking back to work after a lunchtime meeting at La Gouloue, enjoying the beautiful late-June day, and gently teasing out the liquory filling with the tip of my tongue.

At Fifth, I made a left to walk down the remaining few blocks. I happened to glance over at a passing school group, which, judging by the animal paraphernalia some of the kids were carrying, was just coming from the Central Park Zoo. I looked briefly at a few of the kids' happy faces, remembering how much I had enjoyed the end-of-year zoo trip when I was little.

We'd gotten back from Paris only a week before, and I was already itching for another chance to have Mohinder all to myself. I knew he was supposed to leave me alone entirely in August. I was already whining about it, despite knowing it was unfair of me to make him feel guilty for spending quality time with Molly. However, my reward was that Mohinder had already begun scouting out apartments for a September 1 lease start date. Only two and a half months, I kept repeating to myself. Only two and a half months, and it would be like it was in Paris and Boston all the time. In the meantime, I tried to remind myself that maybe a little time apart would be good for me. I knew I had him, and felt pretty secure in our relationship. Perhaps with him gone for a little while, I would be forced to broaden my life beyond my little sphere of work, Mohinder, Allison, and now my new sort-of friend, Daniel, the fifty-year-old furniture maker who lived upstairs. That was important, too, I reasoned with a sigh.

I was brought out of this reverie and back to reality by piercing shrieks. It's moments like these that I was really glad to no longer have my abilities. With the superhearing, this would have hurt a thousand times worse. When the shrieking didn't stop, I looked around to see where it was coming from. To my astonishment, it seemed to be directed at me. One of the little girls I had just glanced at was pointing at me and screaming her head off. One of the two teachers ran over, trying to shush her, but she fought her off yelling, "The Bogeyman! The Bogeyman?" Her screams diminished as she looked at me more closely and confusion began to mingle with fear, but still, she was hysterical. Other passersby on the street started to look, and the other teacher and a chaperone tried to calm the rest of the kids.

_Fuuuuuuck._ I knew in that one moment that it was all over.

The teacher flailed at me apologetically, obviously thinking Molly was off her rocker. Well, as far as I was concerned, a kid who watched her parents get murdered by an insane telekinetic had a right to any outbursts she pleased, but it occurred to me that maybe Mohinder and Matt hadn't informed the school of Molly's past.

I froze, somehow knowing that no matter what, the fragility of my carefully constructed little life had been exposed and was about to be shattered. The screams turned into whimpers as I approached.

"I'm so sorry about this, sir. She's had a hard few months. She's prone to panic attacks and nightmares, but this is the first time she's acted like this about a stranger." The teacher was vainly trying to calm Molly down.

I'm not sure what made me so bold, but there was nothing to lose, and I didn't want to pass up on this opportunity to try to make things right. As I knelt down in front of her, Molly's eyes went, if possible, even bigger. I looked right into them and spoke just loudly enough for her teacher to hear that I wasn't saying anything _too_ creepy.

"I'm so sorry you are scared of me. I promise that I will never, ever hurt you. I know that you think I will, but I won't. I'm so sorry. So incredibly and unbelievably sorry. I wish I could do something to make you stop being afraid or to make up for it, but I know I can't." The fear didn't really leave her face, but at least she was listening and looking me in the eye. When I stood up again, she ran to hide behind her teacher's legs, but continued to stare up at me. The teacher looked at me with a worried and suspicious expression. I guess no matter what, I still seemed kind of off.

I wondered if there was a way to try to continue to reach out to Molly through the teacher. I decided to go on a limb. "Hi, ma'am. I'm actually not a total stranger. Molly and I actually _have_ met before. I unfortunately was doing something that terrified her. I... I wasn't myself that day. I've been feeling terrible about it ever since. I know her parents, I mean guardians, I mean…" I didn't really know how to put it.

"Oh, do you?" the teacher asked, in a hard voice.

"I've seen Matt once or twice, but Dr. Suresh is the one I know a bit better."

Molly gasped.

"And what's your name, sir?" the woman asked, in a voice that I knew meant 'so I can repeat it when I call Matt in ten minutes to tell him about this.'

"They call me by my nickname. Sylar. Like the watch. Yeah, weird, I know. Really, I'm so glad I ran into her like this so I could apologize. It's been bothering me." I looked back down at Molly, praying that she'd understand---Mohinder was always bragging about how smart she was. "Take care of Mohinder for me, ok?" I pleaded.

And then something amazing happened. I don't know if it was something she had already picked up from living with Mohinder, or if it was part of the reason they had bonded so strongly in the first place. Molly's face scrunched up and her nose wrinkled and she tilted her head as if she was seeing me in a new way. It was an exact replica of Mohinder's 'eureka' face. I don't know why I was so sure… maybe it's because I knew Mohinder so well, but I just knew that _she knew_. I subtly nodded yes and looked at her with as much kindness and sorrow and love as I could possibly convey with my eyes and face.

To my complete shock, I heard her whisper, "Ok."

The teacher gave me one more suspicious look and said goodbye. The school group continued on its way. Molly kept turning to look back at me. Before entering the N/R station, I made a quick call to the office to let them know I wouldn't be back that afternoon.

I took one last look at Central Park, the Plaza, and my office. It had been nice while it lasted.


	9. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I remember that this is supposed to be a Mylar story

**Gabriel's POV**:

I should have called first. When I reached NYU, I went straight to Mohinder's office. No one was there. I stopped by his lab. No one was there. In the end, I went back down to the front desk and asked where he might be. I was directed to the department receptionist, who informed me that there was a department-wide meeting that day, the last one of the year, and very important indeed. I didn't know what to do, so I stood outside the locked room and paced. At one point I got really bold and desperate and knocked. Nothing came of it. I wondered if maybe I should go home and come back, but what if the meeting ended while I was gone and Mohinder went home? No, it was impossible. I couldn't do anything---I couldn't even _think_\---before seeing him.

After an hour and a half, geeky scientists of all shapes, sizes and colors lumbered out of the room, chatting about DNA and vacations, students and family. Mohinder, of course, was the calmest, most elegant, and most radiant of all of them. His face lit up when he saw me lurking in a corner of the hallway, and I just couldn't help but smile back, despite everything. For that reason, he didn't immediately realize that anything was amiss.

"What a nice surprise! Did you get out of work early?" Even though the other professors weren't yet quite out of sight, he held my upper arm and massaged it affectionately. That little gesture broke something inside me and I shivered. He finally clued into the fact that something was terribly wrong. "What is it?" he asked.

"I ran into Molly's school group today coming out of the zoo."

Mohinder's eyes widened.

"Come, let's go to my office." We ran down the hallway so fast I thought we were flying. The second we got in the office, Mohinder slammed the door and grabbed me by the shoulders.

"Tell me everything."

"Oh, we had a chat. But only after she screamed her head off and called me the boogieman and freaked her teacher out enough that I'm sure she's calling you. Or you know… Matt." I don't know why I was being so flippant about it. I think I was just at my emotional limit and didn't know how else to react. Plus, I knew if I freaked out, he would freak out more, so I tried to play it sarcastic to keep him calm.

It didn't work. He flipped out.

"A chat? A _chat_? What did you tell her? What did you tell the teacher? Oh my god, Gabriel." He pulled me down onto the couch---the same nice leather couch that after hours we had so many times… I wanted to cry just thinking about it, but made myself keep it together.

"I apologized, but in a way where I didn't actually talk about killing people, obviously. The teacher started apologizing for Molly being weird, but I could tell she wanted to know what was up, so I told her that I knew you. I mean, I was hoping that way maybe she'd call you first and not Matt. I told her that you guys called me Sylar. No point in hiding it. Molly knew exactly who I was."

Mohinder looked over at his office phone. The red voicemail light was on. He looked at his cell phone. Six missed calls from Matt.

"I guess it didn't work," I added.

Mohinder checked his voicemails and put the phone on speaker so we could both hear.

A muffled yet distinctly furious voice came through the other end. "Mohinder. It's Matt. Molly's teacher called. She says Molly freaked out about some guy on the street who she called the boogieman, and who introduced himself as Sylar. I don't know how it happened, but he's alive, and he's found Molly. I'm on my way to pick her up from school right now. Call me and get the hell home as quickly as you can." The automatic voice told us that there was another message, left an hour later. This one sounded even angrier. "Mohinder, where the _fuck_ are you? Molly's… she won't look at me. She's not talking and she's not moving and she's not thinking, and it's freaking me the hell out. She's just shut down. That's what this asshole has done to her, fucking again, and I don't know where to start dealing with this. And the teacher… well, the teacher… Mohinder, get home _NOW_. The only thing she's done is to ask for you. Just once, and then she shut down. Molly needs you. Needs you more than your fucking test tubes do."

I kind of wanted to punch Matt in the face for talking to Mohinder like that, even in a situation like this. I looked over at Mohinder, who was trembling. I'd never seen a brown man turn pale before. It's a uniquely disturbing sight.

He started babbling hysterically. "Oh god, oh god. This is disastrous. Oh god, poor Molly. And if he asks her to look for you…" I put my arms around his shoulders and tried to steady him. I could feel him will himself to get a grip. He made a strong effort to put his, 'this is fucking insane, but this is my life, and I will deal with it' face on---the same face he had made the day he walked into the Tea Lounge to meet me a few months before when this had all started.

"Look for me? What do you mean?" I asked softly. The location thing was rearing its head again at the _most_ inexplicable time.

"Molly's ability. It's to find people. She thinks about people and she knows where they are. She can pinpoint their location on a map. She can just think and visualize the place they are in to precise detail." Mohinder was so distracted that I don't think he quite realized that he was telling me the last secret that lay between us. He didn't realize the magnitude of what he was doing and how much it meant to me. Or maybe he did. I don't know.

"So that's why you were always afraid…?" It was starting to make sense now.

"Yes. And Matthew…" At this point he _did_ realize that he was giving me everything, breaking down the last barriers in our relationship, now, at the end. "He hears thoughts. That's his ability. Even if she… Oh god, and she knows. She knows I'm seeing someone that I didn't want anyone to know about, but she hasn't said anything. What if it comes out now that she's too scared to repress the thought? Or maybe it isn't just fear that makes her not think? Maybe she's trying to protect me? What if she figured it out? No, she couldn't have. Oh god, it's too much for a child." Mohinder simultaneously burrowed into me and pushed me away before jumping to stand up. He started pacing frantically.

I looked at him in a whole new way. All this time, I thought I had it bad. Mohinder had been carrying this weight around with him all these months, even before we patched it up and got together. He was living with the most lethal combination of people to someone who was leading a secret double life. A mind reader and a homing device? Geez. I don't know how he'd done it all this time. I wanted to kiss away the stress he had undergone in the past months for my sake, but it was all moot now. Our fragile bliss had been destroyed, and now he looked so broken.

I remembered Molly's face from just a couple of hours ago. "She knows that there's someone you don't want to talk about? Oh Christ, and when she looked at me…" Now I felt faint. There really was no hiding it now.

"What?" Mohinder stared at me hard.

"She put it together. That you and I… I asked her to take care of you. She knows. I saw it in her eyes." Mohinder had just said that it was too much for a child. It was true. Her new dad was dating the guy who froze and lobotomized her real dad right in front of her, and now she knew. No matter how hard I tried, I was still hurting people, still hurting defenseless little girls.

The two of us looked at each other in silence. After awhile Mohinder slumped back down onto the couch next to me. We sat side by side like two strangers on an airplane, looking not at each other, but at the window in front of us, without speaking and without touching.

"So what now?" I asked after a couple of minutes. I had known the answer for hours, but I still needed to make sure there wasn't another way.

Mohinder continued to look out the window as he spoke. "Run. Now. You need to disappear completely and forever. Go as far as you can and somewhere where no one knows you or even knows anyone who knows you. Do everything in your power to leave Gabriel Gray behind. This time, you really do need to be dead. I'll… I'll try to manage your affairs here as best as I can. I'm not sure if I'll be able to, though, what with people tracking my movements and monitoring my thoughts. Matt will call everyone. He hates you, you know. It won't matter that you're no longer that person. He'll call the police, the FBI, Peter, Bennet..." He choked out the words and finally turned to face me. "You don't have abilities anymore. You can't fight them."

"What about you? What will people do when they find out?" I knew he was right, but I just couldn't contemplate leaving Mohinder in any danger that would be my fault. I wished I could stay, wished I could take him with me, wished I could do anything for him.

He grit his teeth. "Don't worry about me," he said. _Bullshit,_ I thought.

"When will I see you again? How can I contact you? How can I let you know where I am?"

He grabbed my face with one hand and my limp fingers with another. "Don't you understand? If I know where you are, then so can they. My job is to try to keep them from using Molly to find you. Your job is to stay disappeared. I don't know how we can do either of these things, but we can try. If I don't hear from you or about you, at least I can know that maybe, just maybe you're ok."

I repressed a sob. I knew rationally that we didn't have time for meltdowns, but I couldn't help it. I couldn't decide if I wanted to hold him tight or continue to be able to look him in the eyes. "So this is it," I said. I already knew that, but I needed to say it out loud in order to be able to leave the room where I had spent so many happy evenings, leave the only person who had ever seen me for everything I was and could be, and still loved me for it. "And here I was thinking we would have a happy ending."

As Mohinder looked at me, I knew what he was thinking about---that now castle in the sky plan of him having his own place and maybe having a chance to act like normal people… "Me, too. But maybe it was always going to be impossible. I don't know. There are too many other people involved, too much bad blood everywhere." He paused and wrapped himself around me as completely as he could in a seated position. "No matter what, I loved every minute of it," he whispered into my ear.

"So you forgive me?" I'm not sure why I needed to know that before I left.

Mohinder considered. "I don't know. I don't think it matters. I've moved past it. And I love you."

That was enough. "I love you, too."

People talk a lot about goodbye kisses. Books romanticize them. Films play dramatic string music during them. Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman get a lot press for them. The truth is, goodbye kisses suck. They aren't wonderful, and they aren't necessarily more passionate than a kiss on a random Sunday morning when nothing's wrong. Goodbye kisses are just a physical exercise in which all the joy and comfort and excitement you've gotten out of every previous kiss is sucked away. It's the last feast when you know there's a famine coming, which is a thought that keeps you from enjoying it, because you know it's just a preface to a long stretch of emptiness.

I exited the building, knowing I was leaving Mohinder to the wolves. Leaving him to take the blame for the mess I made by coming back, by daring to think I had the right to be happy---and even more presumptuous, happy with _him_.

I made myself blend into the New York City streets, once again a shadowy figure on the run. Only this time without superpowers.


	10. Reckoning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which shit hits the fan

**Mohinder's POV**:

I paused outside the apartment and took a deep breath. I didn't have a plan. I didn't know what might happen, and I didn't have the energy to think through every possible scenario. I was at a complete loss.

As soon as I opened the door, Molly came running and jumping up into my arms. I caught her reflexively and let her head curl around my neck. "Mohinder…" she whispered. I couldn't see her face. I looked over at Matt, who stood glowering by the stove, gun at the ready. He lowered it when he saw it was just me.

"Took you long enough," he growled. "Hmph, that's the first thing she's done since I picked her up." I couldn't believe he was taking this time to get one of his irrational jealous fits.

"I'm so sorry. There was a staff meeting that got out really late." I decided to feel this situation out as delicately as possible.

"Uh huh," he replied. His face was angry and inscrutable. "So, are you alone? Were you followed?"

"No, I'm certain I wasn't. So what happened?" I asked.

Matt narrowed his eyes and watched me closely. "Just what I told you in the messages. Sylar's alive and found Molly. He probably didn't want to kill her in the middle of the street. That's not really his MO. So I don't really know what that means for us. Does he know where we live? Is he going to come here any minute and kill us? He obviously knew where to find her during the day."

"What if it was just a coincidence?" I ventured. "Maybe he wasn't actually following her. What do you think Molly?" I asked, as a way to see how she was doing.

Matt jumped in before she even had a chance to move her head from being buried in my shoulder. "Oh please, she won't tell you. She's---"

But Molly turned to look me in the eyes. "I don't think he was following me. He looked confused, and then he went in the subway instead of following the group," she whispered. Matt's eyes widened in shock.

"Well, probably he was scared that Molly's teacher might catch onto him. Speaking of which…" Matt crossed the room to practically breathe in my face. Molly, still nestled in my arms, turned to look at him in consternation. "The teacher was saying and thinking some interesting things."

My heart quickened, but I still wanted to play it cool to see how bad things were. "Oh really?" I asked casually.

Matt pursed his lips. "Yeah. She said that he apologized to Molly. Apologized! I don't even know what to do with that. And that he said he knew you, and asked Molly to take care of you. I mean, there are only two interpretations of that, right?"

"I---" but I didn't get more than that out.

"Either kill you or look out for your welfare. Obviously a little girl isn't going to kill anyone, so… weird. And then, and _then_…" He closed his eyes and looked nauseous, as though the thought of what he was about to say disgusted and humiliated him beyond anything that had ever happened to him in his life. "Do you know what was running through her head? What her view of the situation was that she didn't feel comfortable saying out loud?"

"I couldn't begin to imagine," I replied softly.

"Well, you know she thinks we're gay. Thinks you're the hottest thing since nuclear fission---her thoughts, not mine, for the record. That's fine. I mean, she's not completely off the mark. But do you know what she thought about Sylar? What vibe she got from the whole encounter? I can't believe I actually have to repeat this… She thought Sylar was so tall and fashionable and good-looking, and that it was only a matter of time until something like this happened."

"Matt," I started. I might as well have not tried. He held up a hand to stop me, and started laughing in a horrible, choked way.

"I had to stand there and listen to her think that it was 'only to be expected'. She thinks the issue is that Molly's traumatized by him because she walked in on the two of you in the middle of some sexual act. That you're cheating on _me_ with _him!_"

I still couldn't quite tell if he believed it or was just sickened by the hypothetical. Matt and I had never been particularly good at reading one another, as our lame failed attempt at romance and the subsequent confusion had proven. I thought there might still have been a chance that I could deny it and avert an even uglier situation involving people probing me for information. Molly certainly understood; Gabriel had been right. Matt was too busy clutching his face and glowering at me to notice that she was looking at me with great big eyes. I knew in an instant that her little shut-down had been her way of protecting me and shielding any thoughts from Matt. I hugged her just a little tighter so she would hopefully realize that I knew that she knew.

"Oh Matt, I'm so sorry. Obviously---"

"---Obviously, it's ridiculous. That's what you're going to say, right, Mohinder?" He paused just long enough for me to finally realize that it was indeed all over. "If it's so obvious, then why did it take you so long to get home when I know that the meeting ended over an hour and a half ago? Why is it that when I called the biology department secretary looking for you, she joked that you were such a popular guy today? Why did she tell me that you had just left the meeting and gone off all cute-like to your office with some 'tall, fashionable, good-looking guy' who had been looking and waiting for you, too? Who apparently has come to see you many times before. Tell me this isn't happening, Mohinder."

"It's all true," I finally confessed. "What Ms. Cohen thought, what Marilyn saw. It's true, except, of course for Molly watching us… I can explain. It's a long story, but I can explain."

"Yes, please. Please do explain to me why it appears that Sylar is not dead like we thought he was. Please explain why instead of telling anyone, you apparently decided to _date_ the sick fuck. Have you lost your fucking mind, Mohinder?"

"Language, Matthew," was all I could think to say at first. How do you counter an argument based on incorrect assumptions that you have no hope of overturning?

He rolled his eyes. "I think a little cussing is the least of the dangers Molly faces at the moment, Mohinder. Thanks to you. I just can't believe this. I waited here, just hoping to give you the benefit of the doubt, feeling certain that there had to be an explanation, because you wouldn't do something this stupid and crazy. I mean, it just doesn't make any sense. A few months ago, you were the one focused on bringing Sylar down even when everyone else was all about the company and the bomb. And now you're hanging out with him in your office? So was it all a lie, all this time? All that anger? I mean, the guy killed your father, killed Molly's parents, almost killed me, killed Peter right in your apartment, killed god knows how many people. Are you telling me you just don't care?"

"Of course not. I meant everything I said back then, but since he's come back, it's been different… he's really quite sweet, and very repentant. It doesn't make all the things that happened ok, but…"

He basically ignored what I had just said. "How could you do this, Mohinder? To all of us? How could you put Molly in danger like this?" Matt's anger took a break while he almost pleaded with me. "How long has this been going on?"

"Two or three months. Since you and Molly were in Florida. But it went back to something that started before I met you and Molly, even before I knew who he really was. This isn't just some stupid fling, Matt."

"That almost makes it worse, Mohinder. I mean, you're sleeping with a serial killer. You've been hiding him and spending time with him, and it's sick! Don't you remember the stuff he's done?"

"He isn't that person anymore, Matt. He was crazy back then. He isn't anymore. He's quite harmless. He doesn't even have abilities anymore."

I don't know why, but something I said brought his fury back in full force. "I don't believe you, but it would be nice if that were true. It would make it easier to take him out."

Molly and I yelled at the same time. "No!" Matt looked between our faces in disbelief.

"Have you brainwashed her, too? You are un-_fucking_-believable, Mohinder." He turned to Molly, and I could tell he was about one step away from compelling me to release her. "What has Mohinder told you?"

"No---nothing," she stammered, and couldn't help but glance at me in a plea for help. "It's just that… he just seemed different today than the other times. I don't think he wanted to kill me. I don't think he's going to hurt us. He… he wasn't scary at all. He just seemed sort of sad. I believe Mohinder."

Matt's jaw dropped, and I saw him will himself to dismiss her. He turned back to me, even angrier to see that she was siding with me in any way. "She doesn't know what she's talking about. So, tell me Mohinder, where is the son-of-a-bitch?"

Now that the cards were all on the table, I found it much easier to fight back. "I don't know."

"Oh please. You're telling me you don't know where he lives? That you don't know where he went after your little romantic date?"

"No, I honestly don't know. I knew you'd ask or try to read my mind, so I told him to go and not tell me where he went."

We glared at one other. He finally broke. "Alright, I have some phone calls to make, and then I'll deal with you. It'll take a whole team to bring down this bastard, but let me tell you, your boyfriend or whatever, is toast. Don't try to pull anything."

He stomped off into one of the bedrooms and slammed the door behind him. I sank into a chair. My legs were giving way and Molly was starting to feel heavy.

"I'm so sorry, Molly. Really. I'm sorry I put you through this."

Even in a sitting position, she snuggled into my lap. "Don't be sorry. I believe you. I really do. When I saw him today, it was the same person, but he was different, like in the face and everything. Even when I was still screaming, I realized that he just looked kind of normal. He didn't used to look normal. And when he told me he was sorry and didn't want to hurt me, he looked like he really meant it. I just… I don't know. It seemed like he just loved you so much, and I remembered all the stuff you told me awhile ago about him, even when I didn't know you were talking about him."

"But don't you hate him? He killed your parents. Don't you hate me for not hating him?"

Molly pondered this. "I thought I did, but now… I don't know. It's like you said. If he's different now, and not crazy… The thing I've been most scared of is that he'd hurt you or me or Matt. But you say he won't and he looked liked he wouldn't. And it's like I told you before---if he's really sorry for what he did when he was crazy, then… shooting him isn't going to bring all those people back. That's what my mom used to say about murderers. And you've just been so happy recently, that he must have been good to you. It's still weird, but if you love him… well, you wouldn't love a really bad person, would you? Maybe he really _is_ nice now." She looked at me for encouragement and confirmation that she wasn't going through all this turmoil unnecessarily.

"He's really quite lovely now, and yes, he regrets having done all those things. When he apologized to you, he really meant it," I whispered. "I'm still so sorry all this had to happen, though."

While we sat in silence for a moment, we suddenly heard Matt bellowing in the other room. "_WHAT?_ Have you lost your mind, Peter? What do you mean you 'support their love'? Are you fucking nuts?"

Molly and I looked at each other and shared a guilty little giggle. Thankfully, it eased some of the tension.

"I guess Mr. Petrelli's on our team, too," she whispered.

"Yeah, I guess so… but do you know what? No matter what happens, you're the team member who means the most. It's such a relief to know that you understand. If you retract and hate me later when you think about it more, I'll completely underst---" She cut me off with an imperious finger.

"So what now?" She had a strange knack of shushing you and getting down to business.

"He's going to leave New York and go somewhere. Somewhere where hopefully no one will get him. I don't know if such a place exists, especially if they make you look for him. I don't know if I'll ever see him again, because if he tries to get in contact with me, Matt's angry enough to make me tell him."

Molly jumped as if she suddenly had an idea.

"What if we don't remember?"

"What do you mean?" I asked tentatively, even though I had a pretty good idea of what she might mean. However, I simply refused to believe she could possibly be going there.

"Well, when I was staying with Mr. Thompson, this man used to come around every so often. He never said anything, but he would play board games with me sometimes. And he once left me a note saying I could count on him anytime I needed anything. Anyway, Mr. Thompson told me he could take out memories. What if he made people forget that the boogeyman is… the boogeyman?" I could tell she wasn't quite sure how to phrase what it is she was trying to say. I thought my heart was already broken, but I realized then that there was even more left to break at having reduced my nine-year-old to suggesting that we alter people's memories.

"I won't lie. The thought crossed my mind. I saved his life once, and he told me he owes me a favor… but I just couldn't. There are too many people involved and too many memories that would need to be taken. It's a dangerous thing Molly, more dangerous than I think you realize. If he takes away too many memories, it can really hurt someone."

Molly shook her head. "You don't get it. It wouldn't be a lot of information. I mean, all he'd need to do is take away the connection that the face of this person is the same as the boogeyman. So everyone still thinks he's dead and that this guy is just some guy. And, well, we'd have to take away the fight we just had with Matt. But yeah, it's not like we have to forget that the crazy person didn't exist or forget what he did. We just have to forget that they're the same person. Don't you see? And maybe in a long time… like years from now, you can tell me what really happened, and tell me that I told you I wanted to forget."

Everything within me revolted at the thought. "No, no. I can't do something like that to you. I don't want your mind tampered with."

"But I want to do it! It's no big deal. You saved my life and you let me stay with you when I didn't have anywhere to go. It isn't many memories and maybe it would help make you happy. It's just one little thought, and the only people he'd have to do it to are me, Matt, and that mean man with the gun, right? Everyone would be so much less stressed out. Just as long as you remember and he remembers, I think it would be ok. I think he should remember. I think remembering would make him continue to be sorry for everything he did forever and ever and he'll never want to do bad things again."

I was still trying to dissuade her. "We don't even know where the Haitian is, Molly…" I stopped myself, realizing that this wasn't actually a problem. Molly concentrated and looked increasingly disappointed as she pinpointed his location.

"He's in the South Pacific. Off the coast of Samoa. On a yacht. Behind the bar. Oh." She opened her eyes and frowned at me. _So that's where he always is when you need him,_ I thought. I breathed a sigh of relief that Molly had been diverted from her plan.

"See, Molly? He can't help us, even if I wanted him to, which I don't."

Molly mulled this over. "Well, I still think it's the best idea. He'll be back sometime. Hey, what's, um… his name? I mean, is he like Cher where he only has a first name? Matt doesn't think I know anything, so it's not like he's going to read my mind about this stuff anymore."

I knew Matt was on the phone with Bennet, who already knew Sylar's real name. "Gabriel Gray."

"That's a nice name," Molly said thoughtfully. "Look Mohinder. Here's the plan. You don't tell Matt what we've been talking about. Tell him what he wants to know so he doesn't force you to tell stuff, because if he did that, then you'd spill all the beans. And if they ask me to tell them where he is, I'll lie. That way, maybe it can be ok. I… I'm going to do my homework now." She gave me a big hug before getting up, going into the dining area and taking out her books and computer.

That was odd. Every so often Molly did things that made me realize how little I knew about raising kids, especially since I hadn't started in a nice linear way with a baby and a toddler. Sometimes I wasn't quite sure what was going on in her little head. There Matt had the unfair advantage.

A few minutes passed, during which I tried to suppress the million thoughts running through my head and the dull ache I felt all over when I thought of what Gabriel must be doing. I didn't even know where he was. After awhile, Matt barreled out of the bedroom. He cast his eyes around the room.

"What's she doing?" he asked me.

"Book report!" Molly chirped from behind the computer. Matt raised an eyebrow.

"Hey Mols, will you check on Sylar's whereabouts for me?"

"Connecticut," she said, and went back to her homework.

"Hmm, I wonder if he's trying to get to Canada? Well, at least he isn't coming here." Matt looked at me quizzically and cocked a thumb in Molly's direction. "_She's_ amazingly recovered. What did you say to her?"

"I just apologized and told her it would be ok," I replied.

"I wish I were as good a liar as you are. Unbelievable, when I think about you sneaking around with Sylar all this time. Anyway, I have news. Audrey's on assignment overseas this week, but I'll find her. Bennet has to wait a couple of days to come here because he wants to make sure Claire will be ok. But he's coming, which is great. He may not be my favorite person, but he sure knows how to get things done. But what did you say to Peter, Mohinder? Fucking emo tool. He didn't actually know Sylar was alive, but when I told him about you two, he was all for it. I don't understand."

"We had a heart-to-heart awhile ago. It really isn't my place to tell you. It's more Peter's business than mine."

"I think we've passed the point where things aren't my business anymore, thank you. Now, I want you to start thinking in English, and I want you to start telling me things. Everything."

So I did. Even though I knew he wouldn't believe it, there was no point in hiding it anymore. The worst had come to pass and if I didn't talk, he'd force it out of me. For the following hours, the following days---for basically what felt like an interminable period, I was drilled, mocked, and threatened, and was made to feel that everything I had held dear was worthless, stupid, and insane. And every day I had to hear updates of chases, FBI reports, all sorts of awful plans geared towards trying to kill someone I cared about. And I was constantly scrutinized to see if I'd slip up and reveal some communication I'd had with Gabriel, but there was nothing to tell. I had no communication. It was as if he was already dead.

I knew Molly understood, but in order to play our parts, we couldn't talk. I had to shoulder the whole thing all alone, _again_. I've held firm against morally corrupt companies, psycho serial killers, exploding men, and a whole host of other things, but this came closest to breaking me than anything else I've ever gone through. My original family broke when Sylar killed my father. My new little family with Molly and Matt had been broken by my relationship with Gabriel. I was surrounded by a lot of people, but had never felt so alone. Even worse, I knew the emptiness would stretch ahead of me for an incalculable amount of time. I'd gotten used to a lot of things. I tried to tell myself I'd get used to this, too.

 

THE END


	11. Epilogue

Three Months Later: Grossmünsterplatz 28, Apt. #4, Zürich, Switzerland  
It was pissing down rain when Thomas Tomlinson woke up on yet another lonely Saturday morning. He had no plans, except for maybe some laundry, so he lay in bed for as long as possible, trying to will away yet another miserable day. By noon, he couldn't delay life any longer. He ate a quiet breakfast of Weetabix and bananas, and watched a little television. With a sigh, he decided to take a shower before reading _The Economist_ for the rest of the day. He turned the water on so it could warm up before he got in. However, before he had even started to take his clothes off, he heard mysterious noises coming from the front hall. It was as if someone was breaking into the apartment and dropping heavy things. Thomas quietly picked up a bit of pipe that had been left by the plumber a few weeks before, and held it like a bat. He took a deep breath and quickly kicked the door open, hoping to take his assailants by surprise.

Thomas stopped short. Instead of vengeful attackers, he was greeted by the most beautiful sight in the world. Just ten feet away from him, Mohinder Suresh, surrounded by four enormous suitcases, was taking off his raincoat hood and shaking out his flattened curls. Mohinder beamed at him, and then cocked a mischievous eyebrow.

"Switzerland? _Wirklich?_" (Really?)

_"Ja. Die Schweitz. Na und?"_ (Yeah, Switzerland. What of it?)

"You just had to pick the most boring country in Europe, didn't you?" Mohinder complained.

"Well, it's home to virtually every major pharmaceutical company engaged in genetic research, which I thought might be helpful on the off-chance that…"

"That what?"

In about two bounds, he crossed the space between them and folded Mohinder in his arms. The two of them lost their balance and ended up sprawled uncomfortably on top of the luggage.

Neither of them minded.

…

Two hours later, they were snuggled together on the sofa in front of the fireplace. They'd had much more important things to do than look through the luggage for loungewear, so Mohinder was now wearing Gabriel's too-long pajama pants, the bottoms adorably hiding his feet. He greedily slathered Roquefort onto a piece of bread before leaning back and wrapping himself around Gabriel.

"It's really time you put it behind you. You can't beat yourself up on a regular basis like this," Mohinder said, with his mouth full.

"What are you talking about?"

"Of all the streets to live on… Grossmonster?"

Gabriel became very earnest for a moment. "It's centrally located and has rising property values. And anyway, it's münster, not monster. I know, the street sign is kind of smudged."

"I see. Well, the neighborhood is charming. Molly will love it when she comes to visit for Christmas break," Mohinder announced matter-of-factly.

"Oh? Ok." Gabriel looked surprised at this, but ran with it. "Speaking of which… part of the reason I picked this neighborhood is also because it's only a ten minute walk from the lakefront. That'll be great during her summer holidays. Do you think we could invite her friend Micah, too? I'd like to meet him."

Mohinder had been too busy collecting his crumbs and massaging circles into Gabriel's back to be more than half-engaged in the conversation, so it took a second for what Gabriel had said to sink in.

"Micah? How the hell do you know who Micah is?"

"I think the larger question is how the hell your nine-year-old made friends with a super-hacker. How do you think I got registered with the government under a new name? How do you think I got a visa and money in a Swiss bank account? He contacted me soon after I left you saying it was on her behalf, but that she didn't want him to remind her that she asked him to. Totally cryptic, but now that you've told me what ended up happening, I guess it makes sense now. Your daughter has very useful connections. It would also seem that she's excellent at keeping secrets from you. You might want to keep an eye on her as the years go by."

"Well, maybe you can help me out with that," Mohinder replied.

The grinned at one another happily.

Gabriel figured this was as good a time as any to break some news.

"Mohinder? I have something to tell you. Promise you won't freak out?"

"I promise." Mohinder was back to nibbling on Gabriel's ear, but stopped when he saw the wine bottle on the coffee table pick itself up and pour him another glass of Bordeaux. He barely heard Gabriel begin to speak.

"Um, I think your test results might have been premature. It's back. But… I feel fine. Totally fine. No psycho need to see the inside of anyone's head or anything… So…" Gabriel paused nervously to see how Mohinder would react.

"Huh," Mohinder said.

 

** _FIN_ **


End file.
